A quiet song for Ellen
The patient Ellen Ray,
A dreamer in the nightfall,
A watcher in the day.
The wedded of the sailor
Who keeps so far away:
A shadow on his forehead
For patient Ellen Ray.

When autumn winds were driving
Across the chafing bay,
He said the words of anger
That wasted Ellen Ray:
He said the words of anger
And went his bitter way:
Her dower was the darkness
The patient Ellen Ray.

Your comfort is a phantom,
My patient Ellen Ray;
You house it in the night-time,
It fronts you in the day;
And when the moon is very low
And when the lights are grey,
You sit and hug a sorry hope,
My patient Ellen Ray!

You sit and hug a sorry hope
Yet who will dare to say,
The sweetness of October

I.

The leaves are shivering on the thorn,
Drearily;
And sighing wakes the lean-eyed morn,
Wearily.

I press my thin face to the pane,
Drearily;
But never will he come again.
(Wearily.)

The rain hath sicklied day with haze,
Drearily;
My tears run downward as I gaze,
Wearily.

The mist and morn spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What is this thing God gives to thee?"
(Wearily.)

I said unto the morn and mist,
Drearily:
"The babe unborn whom sin hath kissed."
(Wearily.)

The morn and mist spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What is this thing which thou dost see?"
(Wearily.)

I said unto the mist and morn,
Drearily:
"The shame of man and woman's scorn."
(Wearily.)

"He loved t...

This Life, which seems so fair,
Is like a bubble blown up in the air
By sporting children's breath,
Who chase it everywhere
And strive who can most motion it bequeath.
And though it sometimes seem of its own might
Like to an eye of gold to be fixed there,
And firm to hover in that empty height,
That only is because it is so light.
But in that pomp it doth not long appear;
For when 'tis most admired, in a thought,
Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.


Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes,
Little Goody Two-Shoes!
Do you know about her? Well,
I'm ready now to tell
How the little creature came
By so odd a name.

It was very long ago,
In the days of good Queen Bess,
When upon the cold world's care,
Fatherless and motherless,

There were thrown two helpless ones,
Destitute as they could be;
Tom, they called the little boy,
And the girl was Margery.

Many a day they cried for food
When the cup-board shelves were bare;
Many an hour they roamed the streets
Scarcely knowing why or where.

As to kindred, all were dead;
As to shelter, they had none;
As to shoes, Tom had a pair;
Little Margery had but one!

One-Shoe, One-Shoe,

I.

These are the things which I would ask of Time:
When I am old,
Never to feel in soul doubt's spiritual rime;
The heart grow cold
With self; but in me that which warms my time.

II.

Never to feel the drouth, the dearth that kills,
Before one dies,
Of mind, full-flowering on thought's fertile hills;
But, in my skies,
The falcon, Fancy, that no season kills.

III.

Never to see the shadow at my door,
Nor fear its fall;
But wait serenely, whether rich or poor,
Nor care at all,
So Love sits with me at my open door.

IV.

Never to have a dream I dreamed destroyed:
And towards the last
Live o'er again all that I have enjoyed,
The happy Past,
Through these, the dreams, no time has yet destroyed...

I.
I wish that when you died last May,
Charles, there had died along with you
Three parts of spring’s delightful things;
Ay, and, for me, the fourth part too.

II.
A foolish thought, and worse, perhaps!
There must be many a pair of friends
Who, arm in arm, deserve the warm
Moon-births and the long evening-ends.

III.
So, for their sake, be May still May!
Let their new time, as mine of old,
Do all it did for me: I bid
Sweet sights and sounds throng manifold.

IV.
Only, one little sight, one plant,
Woods have in May, that starts up green
Save a sole streak which, so to speak,
Is spring’s blood, spilt its leaves between,

V.
That, they might spare; a certain wood
Might miss the plant; their loss were small:
B...

My love stood at the loanin' side
    An' held me by the hand,
The bonniest lad that e'er did bide
    In a' this waefu' land -
There's but ae bonnier to be seen
    Frae Pentland to the sea,
And for his sake but yestre'en
    I sent my love frae me.

I gi'ed my love the white white rose
    That's at my feyther's wa',
It is the bonniest flower that grows
    Whaur ilka flower is braw;
There's but ae bonnier that I ken
    Frae Perth unto the main,
An' that's the flower o' Scotland's men
    That's fechtin' for his ain.

Gin I had kept whate'er was mine
    As I hae gie'd my best,
My he'rt were licht by day, and syne
    The nicht wad bring me rest;
There is nae heavier he'rt to find
    Frae Forfar toon to Ayr,
As aye I...

Stop Not to me, at this bitter departing,
Speak of the sure consolations of Time.
Fresh be the wound, still-renew’d be its smarting,
So but thy image endure in its prime.

But, if the stedfast commandment of Nature
Wills that remembrance should always decay;
If the lov’d form and the deep-cherish’d feature
Must, when unseen, from the soul fade away

Me let no half-effac’d memories cumber!
Fled, fled at once, be all vestige of thee
Deep be the darkness, and still be the slumber
Dead be the Past and its phantoms to me!

Then, when we meet, and thy look strays towards me,
Scanning my face and the changes wrought there,
Who, let me say, is this Stranger regards me,
With the grey eyes, and the lovely brown hair?

The youth in the woods spent the whole day long,
    The whole day long;
For there he had heard such a wonderful song,
    Wonderful song.

Willow-wood gave him a flute so fair,
    A flute so fair, -
To try, if within were the melody rare,
    Melody rare.

Melody whispered and said: "I am here!"
    Said: "I am here!"
But while he was listening, it fled from his ear,
    Fled from his ear.

Oft when he slept, it to him crept,
    It to him crept;
And over his forehead in love it swept,
    In love it swept.

When he would seize it, his sleep took flight,
    His sleep took flight;
The melody hung in the pallid night,
    In the pallid night.

"Lord, O my God, take me therein,
    Take me therein!
The mel...

By their floating mill,
That lies dead and still,
Behold yon Prisoners three,
The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames!
The platform is small, but gives room for them all;
And they're dancing merrily.

From the shore come the notes
To their mill where it floats,
To their house and their mill tethered fast:
To the small wooden isle where, their work to beguile,
They from morning to even take whatever is given;
And many a blithe day they have past.

In sight of the spires,
All alive with the fires
Of the sun going down to his rest,
In the broad open eye of the solitary sky,
They dance, there are three, as jocund as free,
While they dance on the calm river's breast.

Man and Maidens wheel,
They themselves make the reel,...

Dear Christians, let us now rejoice,
And dance in joyous measure;
That, of good cheer, and with one voice,
We sing in love and pleasure
Of what to us our God hath shown,
And the sweet wonder he hath done:
Full dearly hath he bought it!

Forlorn and lost in death I lay
A captive to the devil;
My sin lay heavy, night and day,
For I was born in evil.
I fell but deeper for my strife
There was no good in all my life,
For sin had all-possessed me.

My good works they were worthless quite,
A mock was all my merit;
My free will hates God's judging light,
To all good dead and buried.
Me to despair my anguish drove,
Down unto death my soul did shove:
I must be plunged in hell-fire!

Then God was sorry on his throne
To see suc...

Veils, everywhere float veils; veils long and black,
Framing white faces, oft-times young and fair,
But, like a rose touched by untimely frost,
Showing the blighting marks of sorrow's track.

Veils, veils, veils everywhere.    They tell the cost
Of man-made war.    They show the awful toll
Paid by the hearts of women for the crimes,
The age-old crimes by selfishness ill-named
'Justice' and 'Honour' and 'The call of Fate' -
High words men use to hide their low estate.
About the joy and beauty of this world
A long black veil is furled.
Even the face of Heaven itself seems lost
Behind a veil.    It takes a fervent soul
In these tense times
To visualise a God so long defamed
By insolent lips, that send out prayers, and prate
Of God's collaboration in dar...

A brown bird sang on a blossomy tree,
Sang in the moonshine, merrily,
Three little songs, one, two, and three,
A song for his wife, for himself, and me.

He sang for his wife, sang low, sang high,
Filling the moonlight that filled the sky;
"Thee, thee, I love thee, heart alive!
Thee, thee, thee, and thy round eggs five!"

He sang to himself, "What shall I do
With this life that thrills me through and through!
Glad is so glad that it turns to ache!
Out with it, song, or my heart will break!"

He sang to me, "Man, do not fear
Though the moon goes down and the dark is near;
Listen my song and rest thine eyes;
Let the moon go down that the sun may rise!"

I folded me up in the heart of his tune,
And fell asleep with the sinking moon;
...

The daisy scatter'd on each mead and down,
A golden tuft within a silver crown;
(Fair fall that dainty flower! and may there be
No shepherd grac'd that doth not honour thee!)
The primrose, when with six leaves gotten grace
Maids as a true-love in their bosoms place;
The spotless lily, by whose pure leaves be
Noted the chaste thoughts of virginity;
Carnations sweet with colour like the fire,
The fit impresas for inflam'd desire;
The harebell for her stainless azur'd hue
Claims to be worn of none but those are true;
The rose, like ready youth, enticing stands,
And would be cropp'd if it might choose the hands,
The yellow kingcup Flora them assign'd
To be the badges of a jealous mind;
The orange-tawny marigold: the night
Hides not her colour from a searching...

Hush! and again the chatter of the starling
        Athwart the lawn!
Lean your head close and closer. O my darling!--
        It is the dawn.
Dawn in the dusk of her dream,
        Dream in the hush of her bosom, unclose!
Bathed in the eye-bright beam,
        Blush to her cheek, be a blossom, a rose!

Go, nuptial night! the floor of Ocean tressing
        With moon and star;
With benediction go and breathe thy blessing
        On coasts afar.

Hark! the theorbos thrum
        O'er the arch'd wave that in white smother booms
"Mother of Mystery, come!
        Fain for thee wait other brides, other grooms!"

Go, nuptial night, my breast of hers bereaving!
        Yet, O, tread soft!
Grow day, blithe day, the mountain shoulder heaving

Here in the fairway
Fetching--foul of keel,
Long-stray but fortunate--
Out of the fogs, the vast
Atlantic solitudes.
Shall, by the hawser-pin
Waiting the signal
Leave--go--anchor!
Scent the familiar,
The unforgettable
Fragrance of home;
So in a long breath
Bless us unknowing:
Bless them, the violets,
Bless me, the gardener,
Bless thee, the giver.

I begin through the grass once again to be bound to the Lord;
I can see, through a face that has faded, the face full of rest
Of the Earth, of the Mother, my heart with her heart in accord:
As I lie mid the cool green tresses that mantle her breast
I begin with the grass once again to be bound to the Lord.

By the hand of a child I am led to the throne of the King,
For a touch that now fevers me not is forgotten and far,
And His infinite sceptred hands that sway us can bring
Me in dreams from the laugh of a child to the song of a star.
On the laugh of a child I am borne to the joy of the King.

Well, when all is said and done
Best within my narrow way,
May some angel of the sun
Muse memorial o'er my clay:

'Here was beauty all betrayed
From the freed...

I love thee, sweet Mary, but love thee in fear;
Were I but the morning breeze, healthy and airy,
As thou goest a walking I'd breathe in thine ear,
And whisper and sigh how I love thee, my Mary!

I wish but to touch thee, but wish it in vain;
Wert thou but a streamlet a winding so clearly,
And I little globules of soft dropping rain,
How fond would I press thy white bosom, my Mary!

I would steal a kiss, but I dare not presume;
Wert thou but a rose in thy garden, sweet fairy,
And I a bold bee for to rifle its bloom,
A whole summer's day would I kiss thee, my Mary!!

I long to be with thee, but cannot tell how;
Wert thou but the elder that grows by thy dairy,
And I the blest woodbine to twine on the bough,
I'd embrace thee and cling to thee ever, my Ma...