THEIR SWEET SORROW

They meet to say farewell: Their way Of saying this is hard to say.-- He holds her hand an instant, wholly Distressed--and she unclasps it slowly.

He bends _his_ gaze evasively Over the printed page that she Recurs to, with a new-moon shoulder Glimpsed from the lace-mists that enfold her.

The clock, beneath its crystal cup, Discreetly clicks--_"Quick! Act! Speak up!"_ A tension circles both her slender Wrists--and her raised eyes flash in splendor,

Even as he feels his dazzled own.-- Then, blindingly, round either thrown, They feel a stress of arms that ever Strain tremblingly--and "_Never! Never!_"

Is whispered brokenly, with half A sob, like a belated laugh,-- While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes, Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's.

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JUDITH

O Her eyes are amber-fine-- Dark and deep as wells of wine, While her smile is like the noon Splendor of a day of June, If she sorrow--lo! her face It is like a flowery s.p.a.ce In bright meadows, overlaid With light clouds and lulled with shade.

If she laugh--it is the trill Of the wayward whippoorwill Over upland pastures, heard Echoed by the mocking-bird In dim thickets dense with bloom And blurred cloyings of perfume.

If she sigh--- a zephyr swells Over odorous asphodels And wall lilies in lush plots Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots.

Then, the soft touch of her hand-- Takes all breath to understand What to liken it thereto!-- Never roseleaf rinsed with dew Might slip soother-suave than slips Her slow palm, the while her lips Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss Sweet as heated honey is.

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HE AND I

Just drifting on together-- He and I-- As through the balmy weather Of July Drift two thistle-tufts imbedded Each in each--by zephyrs wedded-- Touring upward, giddy-headed, For the sky.

And, veering up and onward, Do we seem Forever drifting dawnward In a dream, Where we meet song-birds that know us, And the winds their kisses blow us, While the years flow far below us Like a stream.

And we are happy--very-- He and I-- Aye, even glad and merry Though on high The heavens are sometimes shrouded By the midnight storm, and clouded Till the pallid moon is crowded From the sky.

My spirit ne'er expresses Any choice But to clothe him with caresses And rejoice; And as he laughs, it is in Such a tone the moonbeams glisten And the stars come out to listen To his voice.

And so, whate'er the weather, He and I,-- With our lives linked thus together, Float and fly As two thistle-tufts imbedded Each in each--by zephyrs wedded-- Touring upward, giddy-headed, For the sky.

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THE LOST PATH

Alone they walked--their fingers knit together, And swaying listlessly as might a swing Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring.

Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane, And from the covert of the hazel-thicket The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again.

The b.u.mble-bee that tipped the lily-vases Along the road-side in the shadows dim, Went following the blossoms of their faces As though their sweets must needs be shared with him.

Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle Fell swooningly away in faint farewells.

And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them And folded all the landscape from their eyes, They only knew the dusky path before them Was leading safely on to Paradise.

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MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE

O soul of mine, look out and see My bride, my bride that is to be!

Reach out with mad, impatient hands, And draw aside futurity As one might draw a veil aside-- And so unveil her where she stands Madonna-like and glorified-- The queen of undiscovered lands Of love, to where she beckons me-- My bride--my bride that is to be.

The shadow of a willow-tree That wavers on a garden-wall In summertime may never fall In att.i.tude as gracefully As my fair bride that is to be;-- Nor ever Autumn's leaves of brown As lightly flutter to the lawn As fall her fairy-feet upon The path of love she loiters down.-- O'er drops of dew she walks, and yet Not one may stain her sandal wet-- Aye, she might _dance_ upon the way Nor crush a single drop to spray, So airy-like she seems to me,-- My bride, my bride that is to be.

I know not if her eyes are light As summer skies or dark as night,-- I only know that they are dim With mystery: In vain I peer To make their hidden meaning clear, While o'er their surface, like a tear That ripples to the silken brim, A look of longing seems to swim

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All worn and wearylike to me; And then, as suddenly, my sight Is blinded with a smile so bright, Through folded lids I still may see My bride, my bride that is to be.

Her face is like a night of June Upon whose brow the crescent-moon Hangs pendant in a diadem Of stars, with envy lighting them.-- And, like a wild cascade, her hair Floods neck and shoulder, arm and wrist, Till only through a gleaming mist I seem to see a siren there, With lips of love and melody And open arms and heaving breast Wherein I fling myself to rest, The while my heart cries hopelessly For my fair bride that is to be...

Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes!

My bride hath need of no disguise.-- But, rather, let her come to me In such a form as bent above My pillow when in infancy I knew not anything but love.-- O let her come from out the lands Of Womanhood--not fairy isles,-- And let her come with Woman's hands And Woman's eyes of tears and smiles,-- With Woman's hopefulness and grace Of patience lighting up her face: And let her diadem be wrought Of kindly deed and prayerful thought, That ever over all distress May beam the light of cheerfulness.-- And let her feet be brave to fare The labyrinths of doubt and care, That, following, my own may find The path to Heaven G.o.d designed.-- O let her come like this to me-- My bride--my bride that is to be.

HOW IT HAPPENED

I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone-- And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way, And him a blame' old bachelor, confirm'der ev'ry day!

I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from the time He settled in the neighberhood, and hadn't airy a dime Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on!-- So I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone!

I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she done That all her sisters kep' a-gittin' married, one by one, And her without no chances--and the best girl of the pack-- An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back!

And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on, When none of 'em was left, you know, but Evaline and John, And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline To not see what a wife they'd git if they got Evaline!

I got to thinkin' of her; in my great affliction she Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly,-- She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane, And talk of _her own_ mother 'at she'd never see again-- Maybe sometimes cry together--though, fer the most part she Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she'd put her bonnet on And say she'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John!