Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley

I stood far off above the haunts of men
    Somewhere, I know not, when the sky was dim
    From some worn glory, and the morning hymn
Of the gay oriole echoed from the glen.
    Wandering, I felt earth's peace, nor knew I sought
    A visioned face, a voice the wind had caught.

I passed the waking things that stirred and gazed,
    Thought-bound, and heeded not; the waking flowers
    Drank in the morning mist, dawn's tender showers,
And looked forth for the Day-god who had blazed
    His heart away and died at sundown. Far
    In the gray west faded a loitering star.

It seemed that I had wandered through long years,
    A life of years, still seeking gropingly
    A thing I dared not name; now I could see
In the still dawn a hope, in the soft tears

The world to-day is radiant, as I ne'er
Could picture it in wildest dreaming, when
For long, long hours I lay in flowery glen
Or wooded copse, and tried in vain to tear
The glamour from my eyes, and face the glare
And tumult of the busy world of men.
I staked my all, and won! and ne'er again
Can my blest spirit know a heart's despair.

And yet - and yet - why should it be that now,
When all my heart has longed for is at last
    Within my grasp, and I should be at rest,
A ghostly Something rising in the glow
    Of Love's own fire, an uninvited guest,
Taunts me with just one memory of the past!

In the east a lightening;
Where the woods are chill
Moves an unseen finger,
Wakes a sudden thrill;

In my soul a glimmer,
Hush! no words are heard!
In heart-ambush hidden
Chirrup of a bird;

Tremble heart and forest
Like a frightened fawn,
Gleam the distant tree-tops,
Hither comes the dawn!

The world may rage without,
        Quiet is here;
Statesmen may toil and shout,
        Cynics may sneer;
The great world - let it go -
June warmth be March's snow,
I care not - be it so
        Since I am here.

Time was when war's alarm
        Called for a fear,
When sorrow's seeming harm
        Hastened a tear;
Naught care I now what foe
Threatens, for scarce I know
How the year's seasons go
        Since I am here.

This is my resting-place
        Holy and dear,
Where Pain's dejected face
        May not appear.
This is the world to me,
Earth's woes I will not see
But rest contentedly
        Since I am here.

Is't your voice chiding, Love,
        My mild career?
My meek abiding, Love,

Evening has thrown her hushing garment round
This little world; no harsh or jarring sound
Disturbs my reverie. The room is dark,
And kneeling at the window I can mark
Each light and shadow of the scene below.
The placid glistening pools, the streams that flow
Through the red earth, left by the hurrying tide;
The ridge of mountain on the farther side
Shewing more black for many twinkling lights
That come and go about the gathering heights.
Below me lie great wharves, dreary and dim,
And lumber houses crowding close and grim
Like giant shadowed guardians of the port,
With towering chimneys outlined tall and swart
Against the silver pools. Two figures pace
The wharf in ghostly silence, face from face.
O'er the black line of mountain, silver-clear
In faint ro...

Let us peer forward through the dusk of years
    And force the silent future to reveal
    Her store of garnered joys; we may not kneel
For ever, and entreat our bliss with tears.
    Somewhere on this drear earth the sunshine lies,
    Somewhere the air breathes Heaven-blown harmonies.

Some day when you and I have fully learned
    Our waiting-lesson, wondering, hand in hand
    We shall gaze out upon an unknown land,
Our thoughts and our desires forever turned
    From our old griefs, as swallows, home warding,
    Sweep ever southward with unwearied wing.

We shall fare forth, comrades for evermore.
    Though the ill-omened bird Time loves to bear
    Has brushed this cheek and left an impress there
I shall be fierce and dauntless as of yore,
 ...

There is a long thin line of fading gold
    In the far West, and the transfigured leaves
    On some slight, topmost bough that sways and heaves
Hang limp and tremulous. Nor warm, nor cold
    The pungent air, and, 'neath the yellow haze,
    Show flushed and glad the wild, October ways.

There is a soft enchantment in the air,
    A mystery the Summer knows not, nor
    The sturdy, frost-crowned Winter. Nature wore
Her blandest smile to-day, as here and there
    I wandered, elf-beset, through wood and field
    And gleaned the glories of the autumn yield.

A bunch of purple aster, golden-rod
    Darkened by the first frost, a drooping spray
    Of scarlet barberry, and tall and gray
The silk-cored cotton with its bursting pod,
    Some tarnished m...

Clear sounds the call on high:
"To arms and victory!"
Brave hearts that win or die,
        Dying, may win;
Proudly the banners wave,
What though the goal's the grave?
Death cannot harm the brave, -
        Through death they win.

Softly the evening hush
Stilling strife's maddened rush
Cools the fierce battle flush, -
        See the day die;
A thousand faces white
Mirror the cold moonlight
And glassy eyes are bright
        With Victory.

I have been wandering where the daisies grow,
    Great fields of tall, white daisies, and I saw
    Them bend reluctantly, and seem to draw
Away in pride when the fresh breeze would blow
    From timothy and yellow buttercup,
    So by their fearless beauty lifted up.

Yet must they bend at the strong breeze's will,
    Bright, flawless things, whether in wrath he sweep
    Or, as oftimes, in mood caressing, creep
Over the meadows and adown the hill.
    So Love in sport or truth, as Fates allow,
    Blows over proud young hearts, and bids them bow.

So beautiful is it to live, so sweet
    To hear the ripple of the bobolink,
    To smell the clover blossoms white and pink,
To feel oneself far from the dusty street,
    From dusty souls, from all th...

They stream across the fading western sky
A sable cloud, far o'er the lonely leas;
Now parting into scattered companies,
Now closing up the broken ranks, still high
And higher yet they mount, while, carelessly,
Trail slow behind, athwart the moving trees
A lingering few, 'round whom the evening breeze
Plays with sad whispered murmurs as they fly.

A lonely figure, ghostly in the dim
And darkening twilight, lingers in the shade
Of bending willows: "Surely God has laid
His curse on me," he moans, "my strength of limb
And old heart-courage fail me, and I flee
Bowed with fell terror at this augury."

If days should pass without a written word
    To tell me of thy welfare, and if days
    Should lengthen out to weeks, until the maze
Of questioning fears confused me, and I heard.
    Life-sounds as echoes; and one came and said
    After these weeks of waiting: "He is dead!"

Though the quick sword had found the vital part,
    And the life-blood must mingle with the tears,
    I think that, as the dying soldier hears
The cries of victory, and feels his heart
    Surge with his country's triumph-hour, I could
    Hope bravely on, and feel that God was good.

I could take up my thread of life again
    And weave my pattern though the colors were
    Faded forever. Though I might not dare
Dream often of thee, I should know that when
    Death came t...

The light has left the hill-side. Yesterday
These skies shewed blue against the dusky trees,
The leaves' soft murmur in the evening breeze
Was music, and the waves danced in the bay.
Then was my heart, as ever, far away
With you, - and I could see you as one sees
A mirrored face, - and happiness and ease
And hope were mine, in spite of long delay.

After these months of waiting, this is all!
Hope, dead, lies coffined, shrouded in despair,
With all the blessings of the outer air
Forgot, 'neath the black covering of a pall.
Only the darkening of the woodland ways,
A heart's low moaning over wasted days.

I do not know if all the fault be mine,
    Or why I may not think of thee and be
    At peace with mine own heart. Unceasingly
Grim doubts beset me, bygone words of thine
    Take subtle meaning, and I cannot rest
    Till all my fears and follies are confessed.

Perhaps the wild wind's questioning has brought
    My heart its melancholy, for, alone
    In the night stillness, I can hear him moan
In sobbing gusts, as though he vainly sought
    Some bygone bliss. Against the dripping pane
    In storm-blown torrents beats the driving rain.

Nay I will tell thee all, I will not hide
    One thought from thee, and if I do thee wrong
    So much the more must I be brave and strong
To show my fault. And if thou then shouldst chide
    I will accept repr...

Cam'st thou not nigh to me
In that one glimpse of thee
When thy lips, tremblingly,
        Said: "My Beloved."
'Twas but a moment's space,
And in that crowded place
I dared not scan thy face
        O! my Beloved.

Yet there may come a time
(Though loving be a crime
Only allowed in rhyme
        To us, Beloved),
When safe 'neath sheltering arm
I may, without alarm,
Hear thy lips, close and warm,
        Murmur: "Beloved!"

A breath                         A breath
   And a sigh, -                     And a sigh, - 
    How we fly                       How we fly
From Death!                      From Death! - 
                        
A palm                           Sing on
    Warm pressed,                    O our bird!
    As we guessed                    Thou art heard
Love's psalm.                    Alone.
                        
A word                           We know
    Breathed close,                  No life,
    And then rose                    Neither strife,
The bird                         Nor woe,
                        
That cowers                      Nor aught
    In the wood                      But this hour, - 
    'Mid a flood                     L...

Oh come, Eurydice!
The Stygian deeps are past
Well-nigh; the light dawns fast.
Oh come, Eurydice!

The gods have heard my song!
My love's despairing cry
Filled hell with melody, -
And the gods heard my song.

I knew no life but thee;
Persephone was moved;
She, too, hath lived, hath loved;
She saw I lived for thee.

I may not look on thee,
Such was the gods' decree; -
Till sun and earth we see
No kiss, no smile for thee!

The way is rough, is hard;
I cannot hear thy feet
Swift following; speak, my Sweet, -
Is the way rough and hard?

"Oh come, Eurydice!"
I turn: "our woe is o'er,
I will not lose thee more!"
I cry: "Eurydice!"

O father Hermes, help!
I see her fade away
Back from the...

What of our life when this frail flesh lies low
A withered clod, and the free soul has burst
Through the world-fetters? Not of souls accursed
With cherished lusts that mar them, those who sow
Evil and reap the harvest, and who bow
At Mammon's golden shrine, but those who thirst
For Truth, and see not, - spirits deep immersed
In doubt and trouble, - hearts that fain would know?

The soul is satisfied. The spirit trained
For the divine, because the beautiful,
Now with the body gone, free and unstained,
Doubts swept away like clouds of scattering wool
Before a blast, - e'er Heaven's pure paths are trod
Is perfected to understand its God.

There are some things, dear Friend, are easier far
    To say in written words than when we sit
    Eye answering eye, or hand to hand close knit.
Not that there is between us any bar
    Of shyness or reserve; the day is past
    For that, and utter trust has come at last.

Only, when shut alone and safe inside
    These four white walls, - hearing no sound except
    Our own heart-beatings, silences have crept
Stealthily round us, - as the incoming tide
    Quiet and unperceived creeps ever on
    Till mound and pebble, rock and reef are gone.

Or out on the green hillside, even there
    There is a hush, and words and thoughts are still.
    For the trees speak, and myriad voices fill
With wondrous echoes all the waiting air.
    We listen, and in...