I care not that one listen if he lives
For aught but life's romance, nor puts above
All life's necessities the need to love,
Nor counts his greatest wealth what Beauty gives.
But sometime on an afternoon in spring,
When dandelions dot the fields with gold,
And under rustling shade a few weeks old
'Tis sweet to stroll and hear the bluebirds sing,
Do you, blond head, whom beauty and the power
Of being young and winsome have prepared
For life's last privilege that really pays,
Make the companion of an idle hour
These relics of the time when I too fared
Across the sweet fifth lustrum of my days.

        You will forget me. The years are so tender,
    They bind up the wounds which we think are so deep;
        This dream of our youth will fade out as the splendor
    Fades from the skies when the sun sinks to sleep;
        The cloud of forgetfulness, over and over
    Will banish the last rosy colors away,
        And the fingers of time will weave garlands to cover
    The scar which you think is a life-mark to-day.

        You will forget me. The one boon you covet
    Now above all things will soon seem no prize;
        And the heart, which you hold not in keeping to prove it
    True or untrue, will lose worth in your eyes.
        The one drop to-day, that you deem only wanting
    To fill your life-cup to the brim, soon will seem
        But a val...

(ISABELLA STEWART)


Heart of mine, by thy quick beating,
    Thou knowest Isabel is near,
And the gladness of the greeting
    Dims my eye with rapture's tear.
Heart of mine, each beat will tell
How I love young Isabel.

When I first beheld the maiden,
    So fair to see, so sweet to bless,
I, a stranger, sorrow laden,
    Arrested by her loveliness,
Then I thought some hand would set,
On that brow a coronet.

She had grace all hearts beguiling,
    She had the wealth of silken hair,
And sweet lips, half proud, half smiling,
    Neck of snow and bosom fair,
And each eye a sapphire gem
For a monarch's diadem

Oh, she was peerless in her beauty,
    Like the fair moon she walked alone,
And loving her was but a d...

When I am dead you'll find it hard,
    Said he,
To ever find another man
    Like me.

What makes you think, as I suppose
    You do,
I'd ever want another man
    Like you?

I know not why I yearn for thee again,
To sail once more upon thy fickle flood;
I'll hear thy waves wash under my death-bed,
Thy salt is lodged forever in my blood.

Yet I have seen thee lash the vessel's sides
In fury, with thy many tailed whip;
And I have seen thee, too, like Galilee,
When Jesus walked in peace to Simon's ship

And I have seen thy gentle breeze as soft
As summer's, when it makes the cornfields run;
And I have seen thy rude and lusty gale
Make ships show half their bellies to the sun.

Thou knowest the way to tame the wildest life,
Thou knowest the way to bend the great and proud:
I think of that Armada whose puffed sails,
Greedy and large, came swallowing every cloud.

But I have seen the sea-boy, young and drowned,
...

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with metry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
There the Joves a circle go,
The flaming circle of our days,
Gyring, spiring to and fro
In those great ignorant leafy ways;
Remembering all that shaken hair
And how the winged sandals dart,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care:
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.
Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile.
L...

If the stars fell; night's nameless dreams
Of bliss and blasphemy came true,
If skies were green and snow were gold,
And you loved me as I love you;

O long light hands and curled brown hair,
And eyes where sits a naked soul;
Dare I even then draw near and burn
My fingers in the aureole?

Yes, in the one wise foolish hour
God gives this strange strength to a man.
He can demand, though not deserve,
Where ask he cannot, seize he can.

But once the blood's wild wedding o'er,
Were not dread his, half dark desire,
To see the Christ-child in the cot,
The Virgin Mary by the fire?

I.

This is the place where visions come to dance,
Dreams of the trees and flowers, glimmeringly;
Where the white moon and the pale stars can see,
Sitting with Legend and with dim Romance.
This is the place where all the silvery clans
Of Music meet: music of bird and bee;
Music of falling water; melody
Mated with magic, with her golden lance.
This is the place made holy by Love's feet,
And dedicate to wonder and to dreams,
The ministers of Beauty. 'Twas with these
Love filled the place, making all splendours meet
And all despairs, as once in woods and streams
Of Ida and the gold Hesperides.

II.

Here is the place where Loveliness keeps house,
Between the river and the wooded hills,
Within a valley where the Springtime spills
Her ...

O golden day! O silver night!
    That brought my own true love at last,
Ah, wilt thou drop from out our sight,
    And drown within the past?

One wave, no more, in life's wide sea,
    One little nameless crest of foam,
The day that gave her all to me
    And brought us to our home.

Nay, rather as the morning grows
    In flush, and gleam, and kingly ray,
While up the heaven the sun-god goes,
    So shall ascend our day.

And when at last the long night nears,
    And love grows angel in the gloam,
Nay, sweetheart, what of fears and tears? -
    The stars shall see us home.

Is it not sweet, beloved youth,
    To rove through Erudition's bowers,
And cull the golden fruits of truth,
    And gather Fancy's brilliant flowers?

And is it not more sweet than this,
    To feel thy parents' hearts approving,
And pay them back in sums of bliss
    The dear, the endless debt of loving?

It must be so to thee, my youth;
    With this idea toil is lighter;
This sweetens all the fruits of truth,
    And makes the flowers of fancy brighter.

The little gift we send thee, boy,
    May sometimes teach thy soul to ponder,
If indolence or siren joy
    Should ever tempt that soul to wander.

'Twill tell thee that the wingèd day
    Can, ne'er be chain'd by man's endeavor;
That life and time shall fade away,
    W...

Out of the golden remote wild west where the sea without shore is,
Full of the sunset, and sad, if at all, with the fulness of joy,
As a wind sets in with the autumn that blows from the region of stories,
Blows with a perfume of songs and of memories beloved from a boy,
Blows from the capes of the past oversea to the bays of the present,
Filled as with shadow of sound with the pulse of invisible feet,
Far out to the shallows and straits of the future, by rough ways or pleasant,
Is it thither the wind’s wings beat? is it hither to me, O my sweet?
For thee, in the stream of the deep tide-wind blowing in with the water,
Thee I behold as a bird borne in with the wind from the west,
Straight from the sunset, across white waves whence rose as a daughter
Venus thy mother, in years when the w...

Only half an hour or so
    Before nurse calls them to bed,
And the ruddy light of a cheerful fire
    Shines over each curly head.

No trouble have they, no sorrow -
    Their hearts are lighter than air,
No fear that a dark to-morrow
    May bring with it want or care.

God send them each on their pathway
    Many a wayside flower;
And grant, in the evening of lifetime,
    The joy of the evening hour.

Why smile high stars the happier after rain?
Why is strong love the stronger after pain?
Ai me! ai me! thou wotest not nor I!

Why sings the wild swan heavenliest when it dies?
Why spake the dumb lips sweetest that we prize
For maddening memories? O why! O why!

Why are dead kisses dearer when they're dead?
Why are dead faces lovelier vanished?
And why this heart-ache? None can answer why!

    This weeping willow!
    Why do you not plant a few
    For the millions of children not yet born,
    As well as for us?
    Are they not non-existent, or cells asleep
    Without mind?
    Or do they come to earth, their birth
    Rupturing the memory of previous being?
    Answer!
    The field of unexplored intuition is yours.
    But in any case why not plant willows for them,
    As well as for us?
    Marie Bateson
    You observe the carven hand
    With the index finger pointing heavenward.
    That is the direction, no doubt.
    But how shall one follow it?
    It is well to abstain from murder and lust,
    To forgive, do good to others, worship God
    Without graven images.
    But these are external means after all
 ...

Here's to our Goddess, Liberty,
Idol of bronze and stone!
May she awake to life some day
And let her charms be known.

Carelessly over the plain away,
Where by the boldest man no path
Cut before thee thou canst discern,
Make for thyself a path!

Silence, loved one, my heart!
Cracking, let it not break!
Breaking, break not with thee!

1

Hangs stormed with stars the night,
Deep over deep,
A majesty, a might,
To feel and keep.


2

Ah! what is such and such,
Love, canst thou tell?
That shrinks - though 'tis not much -
To weep farewell.


3

That hates the dawn and lark;
Would have the wail, -
Sobbed through the ceaseless dark, -
O' the nightingale.


4

Yes, earth, thy life were worth
Not much to me,
Were there not after earth
Eternity.


5

God gave thee life to keep -
And what hath life? -
Love, faith, and care, and sleep
Where dreams are rife.


6

Death's sleep, whose shadows start
The tears in eyes
Of love, that fill the heart
That breaks and d...

Your own fair youth, you care so little for it,
    Smiling towards Heaven, you would not stay the advances
    Of time and change upon your happiest fancies.
I keep your golden hour, and will restore it.

If ever, in time to come, you would explore it--
    Your old self whose thoughts went like last year's pansies,
    Look unto me; no mirror keeps its glances;
In my unfailing praises now I store it.

To keep all joys of yours from Time's estranging,
    I shall be then a treasury where your gay,
            Happy, and pensive past for ever is.

I shall be then a garden charmed from changing,
    In which your June has never passed away.
            Walk there awhile among my memories.