A Woman's Love Letters.

by Sophie M. Almon-Hensley.

A Dream.

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 pa.s.sed 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-G.o.d 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 Of the deep-hearted violets a breath Of kinship, like the herald voice of Death.

Slow moved the morning; where the hill was bare Woke a reluctant breeze. Dimly I knew My Day was come. The wind-blown blossoms threw Their breath about me, and the pine-swept air Grew to a shape, a mighty, formless thing, A phantom of the wood's imagining.

And as I gazed, spell-bound, it seemed to move Its tendril limbs, still swaying tremulously As if in spirit-doubt; then glad and free Crystalled the being won from waiting grove Into a human likeness. There he stood, The vine-browed shape of Nature's mortal mood.

"Now have I found thee, Vision I have sought These years, unknowing; surely thou art fair And inly wise, and on thy ta.s.selled hair Glows Heaven's own light. Pa.s.sion and fame are naught To thy clear eyes, O Prince of many lands,-- Grant me thy joy," I cried, and stretched my hands.

No answer but the flourish of the breeze Through the black pines. Then, slowly, as the wind Parts the dense cloud-forms, leaving naught behind But shapeless vapor, through the budding trees Drifted some force unseen, and from my sight Faded my G.o.d into the morning light.

Again alone. With wistful, straining eyes I waited, and the sunshine flecked the bank Happy with arbutus and violets where I sank Hearing, near by, a host of melodies, The rapture of the woodthrush; soft her mood The love-mate, with such golden numbers woo'd.

He ceased; the fresh moss-odors filled the grove With a strange sweetness, the dark hemlock boughs Moved soft, as though they heard the brooklet rouse To its spring soul, and whisper low of love.

The white-robed birches stood unbendingly Like royal maids, in proud expectancy.

Athwart the ramage where the young leaves press It came to me, ah, call it what you will Vision or waking dream, I see it still!

Again a form born of the woodland stress Grew to my gaze, and by some secret sign Though shadow-hid, I knew the form was thine.

The glancing sunlight made thy ruddy hair A crown of gold, but on thy spirit-face There was no smile, only a tender grace Of love half doubt. Upon thy hand a rare Wild bird of Paradise perched fearlessly With radiant plumage and still, l.u.s.trous eye.

And as I gazed I saw what I had deemed A shadow near thy hand, a dusky wing, A bird like last year's leaves, so dull a thing Beside its fellow; as the sunshine gleamed Each breast showed letters bright as crystalled rain, The fair bird bore "Delight," the other "Pain."

Then came thy voice: "O Love, wilt have my gift?"

I stretched my glad hands eagerly to grasp The heaven-blown bird, gold-hued, and longed to clasp It close and know it mine. Ere I might lift The shining thing and hold it to my breast Again I heard thy voice with vague unrest.

"These are twin birds and may not parted be."

Full in thine eyes I gazed, and read therein The paradox of life, of love, of sin, As on a night of cloud and mystery One darting flash makes bright the hidden ways, And feet tread knowingly though thick the haze.

Thy gift, if so I chose,--no other hand Save thine.--I reached and gathered to my heart The quivering, sentient things.--Sometimes I start To know them hidden there.--If I should stand Idly, some day, and _one_,--G.o.d help me!--breast A homing breeze,--my _brown_ bird knows _its_ nest.

Dream-Song.

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 s.p.a.ce, 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!"

Doubt.

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 reproof most willingly So it but bringeth peace to thee and me.

I dread thy past. Phantoms of other days Pursue my vision. There are other hands Which thou hast held, perchance some slender bands That draw thee still to other woodland ways Than those which _we_ have known, some blissful hours I do not share, of love, and June, and flowers.

I dread her most, that woman whom thou knewest Those years ago,--I cannot bear to think That she can say: "My lover praised the pink Of palm, or ear," "The violets were bluest In that dear copse," and dream of some fair day When thou didst while her summer hours away.

I dread them too, those light loves and desires That lie in the dim shadow of the years; I fain would cheat myself of all my fears And, as a child watching warm winter fires, Dream not of yesterday's black embers, nor To-morrow's ashes that may strew the floor.

I did not dream of this while thou wert near, But now the thought that haunts me day by day Is that the things I love, the tender way Of mastery, the kisses that are dear As Heaven's best gifts, to other lips and arms Owe half their blessedness and all their charms.

Tell me that I am wrong, O! Man of men, Surely it is not hard to comfort me, Laugh at my fears with dear persistency, Nay, if thou must, lie to me! There, again, I hear the rain, and the wind's wailing cry Stirs with wild life the night's monotony.

Song.

If I had known That when the morrow dawned the roses would be dead I would have filled my hands with blossoms white and red.

If I had known!

If I had known That I should be to-day deaf to all happy birds I would have lain for hours to listen to your words.

If I had known!

If I had known That with the morning light you would be gone for aye I would have been more kind;--sweet Love had won his way If I had known.

Antic.i.p.ation.

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, Free as a bird o'er the wide world to rove, And strong and fearless, O my Love, to love.

What have we now? The haunting, vague unrest Of incompleted measures; and we dream Vainly, of the Musician and His theme, How the great Master in a day most blest Shall strike some mighty chords in harmony, And make an end, and set the music free!