She sees her image in the glass,—
How fair a thing to gaze upon!
She lingers while the moments run,
With happy thoughts that come and pass,
Like winds across the meadow grass
When the young June is just begun:
She sees her image in the glass,—
How fair a thing to gaze upon!
What wealth of gold the skies amass!...
Pallid with too much longing,
White with passion and prayer,
Goddess of love and beauty,
She sits in the picture there,—
Sits with her dark eyes seeking
Something more subtle still
Than the old delights of loving
Her measureless days to fill.
She has loved and been loved so often
In her long, immortal years,...
Come hither and behold this lady’s face,
Who lies asleep, as if strong Death had kissed
Upon her eyes the kiss none can resist,
And held her fast in his prolonged embrace!
See the still lips, which grant no answering grace
To Love’s fond prayers, and the sweet, carven smile,
Sign of some dream-born joy which did beguile
The dreaming soul...
So love is dead that has been quick so long!
Close, then, his eyes, and bear him to his rest,
With eglantine and myrtle on his breast,
And leave him there, their pleasant scents among;
And chant a sweet and melancholy song
About the charms whereof he was possessed,
And how of all things he was loveliest,
And to compare with aught were him...
How shall we know it is the last good-by?
The skies will not be darkened in that hour,
No sudden blight will fall on leaf or flower,
No single bird will hush its careless cry,
And you will hold my hands, and smile or sigh
Just as before. Perchance the sudden tears
In your dear eyes will answer to my fears;
But there will come no voice of...
Were but my spirit loosed upon the air,—
By some High Power who could Life’s chains unbind,
Set free to seek what most it longs to find,—
To no proud Court of Kings would I repair:
I would but climb, once more, a narrow stair,
When day was wearing late, and dusk was kind;
And one should greet me to my failings blind,
Content so I but...
We lay us down to sleep,
And leave to God the rest:
Whether to wake and weep
Or wake no more be best.
Why vex our souls with care?
The grave is cool and low,—
Have we found life so fair
That we should dread to go?
We ’ve kissed love’s sweet, red lips,
And left them sweet and red:
The rose the wild bee...
As the wind at play with a spark
Of fire that glows through the night,
As the speed of the soaring lark
That wings to the sky his flight,
So swiftly thy soul has sped
On its upward, wonderful way,
Like the lark, when the dawn is red,
In search of the shining day.
Thou art not with the frozen dead
Whom earth in...
Round among the quiet graves,
When the sun was low,
Love went grieving,—Love who saves:
Did the sleepers know?
At his touch the flowers awoke,
At his tender call
Birds into sweet singing broke,
And it did befall
From the blooming, bursting sod
All Love’s dead arose,
And went flying...
Dear singer of our fathers’ day,
Who lingerest in the sunset glow,
Our grateful hearts all bid thee stay;
Bend hitherward and do not go.
Gracious thine age, thy youth was strong,
For Freedom touched thy tongue with fire:
To sing the right and fight the wrong
Thine equal hand held bow or lyre.
O linger, linger long,...
