Of hope for what returneth never,
All the sorrow and the longing
To these hearts of ours belonging?
Out on it! no foolish pining
For the sky
Dims thine eye,
Or for the stars so calmly shining;
Like thee let this soul of mine
Take hue from that wherefor I long,
Self-stayed and high, serene and strong,
Not satisfied with hoping- but divine.
Violet! dear violet !
Thy blue eyes are only wet
The death-watch ticked behind the wall,
The blackness rustled like a pall,
The moaning wind did rise and fall
Among the bleak pines, Rosaline!
My heart beat thickly in mine ears:
The lids may shut out fleshly fears,
But still the spirit sees and hears,
Its eyes are lidless, Rosaline!
A wildness rushing suddenly,
A knowing some ill shape is nigh,
A wish for death, a fear to die,
Is not this vengeance, Rosaline?
A loneliness that is not lone,
A love quite withered up and gone,
A strong soul ousted from its throne,
What wouldst thou further, Rosaline?
'Tis drear such moonless nights as these,
Strange sounds are out upon the breeze,
And the leaves shiver in the trees,
And then thou comest, Rosaline !
I seem to hear the mourners go,
With long black garments trailing slow,
And plumes anodding to and fro,
As once I heard them, Rosaline!
Thy shroud is all of snowy white,
And, in the middle of the night,
Thou standest moveless and upright,
Gazing upon me, Rosaline !
There is no sorrow in thine eyes,
But evermore that meek surprise, –
O God! thy gentle spirit tries
To deem me guiltless, Rosaline!
Above thy grave the robin sings,
And swarms of bright and happy things
Flit all about with sunlit wings,
But I am cheerless, Rosaline!
With joy and love of Him who sent thee, The violets on the hillock toss,
And for the fulfilling sense
Of that glad obedience
The gravestone is o'ergrown with moss;
For nature feels not any loss,
Which made thee all that Nature meant But I am cheerless, Rosaline!
THOU look'dst on me all yesternight,
Thine eyes were blue, thy hair was bright
As when we murmured our troth-plight
Beneath the thick stars, Rosaline !
Thy hair was braided on thy head,
As on the day we two were wed,
Mine eyes scarce knew if thou wert dead,
But my shrunk heart knew, Rosaline!
I did not know when thou wast dead;
A blackbird whistling overhead
Thrilled through my brain; I would have
fled,
But dared not leave thee, Rosaline !
The sun rolled down, and very soon,
Like a great fire, the awful moon
Rose, stained with blood, and then a swoon
Crept chilly o'er me, Rosaline !
The stars came out; and, one by one,
Each angel from his silver throne
Looked down and saw what I had done:
I dared not hide me, Rosaline !
I crouched; I feared thy corpse would cry
Against me to God's silent sky,
I thought I saw the blue lips try
To utter something, Rosaline!
I waited with a maddened grin
To hear that voice all icy thin
Slide forth and tell my deadly sin
To hell and heaven, Rosaline !
But no voice came, and then it seemed,
That, if the very corpse had screamed,
The sound like sunshine glad had streamed
Through that dark stillness, Rosaline!
And then, amid the silent night,
I screamed with horrible delight,
And in my brain an awful light
Did seem to crackle, Rosaline!
It is my curse! sweet memories fall
From me like snow, and only all
Of that one night, like cold worms, crawl
My doomed heart over, Rosaline !
Why wilt thou haunt me with thine eyes,
Wherein such blessed memories,
Such pitying forgiveness lies,
Than hate more bitter, Rosaline !
Woe 's me! I know that love so high
As thine, true soul, could never die,
And with mean clay in churchyard lie, -
Would it might be so, Rosaline !
Ay, pale and silent maiden,
Cold as thou liest there,
Thine was the sunniest nature
That ever drew the air,
The wildest and most wayward,
And yet so gently kind,
Thou seemedst but to body
A breath of summer wind.
Into the eternal shadow
That girds our life around, Into the infinite silence
Wherewith Death's shore is bound, Thou hast gone forth, beloved!
And I were mean to weep,
That thou hast left Life's shallows,
And dost possess the Deep.
Thou liest low and silent,
Thy heart is cold and still,
"In her hand she held a flower,
Like to this as like may be,
Which, beside my very threshold,
She had plucked and brought to me."
O MOONLIGHT deep and tender,
A year and more agone,
Your mist of golden splendor
Round my betrothal shone !
O elm-leaves dark and dewy,
The very same ye seem,
The low wind trembles through ye,
Ye murmur in my dream!
O river, dim with distance,
Flow thus forever by,
A part of my existence
Within your heart doth lie!
O stars, ye saw our meeting,
Two beings and one soul,
Two hearts so madly beating
To mingle and be whole!
O happy night, deliver
Her kisses back to me,
Or keep them all, and give her
A blissful dream of me!
backward step for those who feel the
And a heart-tremble quivers through the | We live and love, well knowing that deep; Give me that growth which some perchance deem sleep, Wherewith the steadfast coral-stems uprise,
Which, by the toil of gathering energies, Their upward way into clear sunshine keep,
Until, by Heaven's sweetest influences, Slowly and slowly spreads a speck of green
Into a pleasant island in the seas, Where, mid tall palms, the cane-roofed home is seen,
And wearied men shall sit at sunset's hour,
Hearing the leaves and loving God's dear power.
Of Faith as their most lofty yearnings high:
Love hath so purified my being's core, Meseems I scarcely should be startled,
THERE never yet was flower fair in vain, Let classic poets rhyme it as they will; The seasons toil that it may blow again, And summer's heart doth feel its every ill; Nor is a true soul ever born for naught; Wherever any such hath lived and died, There hath been something for true freedom wrought,
Some bulwark levelled on the evil side: Toil on, then, Greatness! thou art in the right,
However narrow souls may call thee wrong;
Be as thou wouldst be in thine own clear
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