Part 14

1875

XVIII To A. D.

THE nightingale has a lyre of gold, The lark’s is a clarion-call, And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute, But I love him best of all.

For his song is all of the joy of life, And we in the mad, spring weather, We two have listened till he sang Our hearts and lips together.

1876

XIX

YOUR heart has trembled to my tongue, Your hands in mine have lain, Your thought to me has leaned and clung, Again and yet again, My dear, Again and yet again.

Now die the dream, or come the wife, The past is not in vain, For wholly as it was your life Can never be again, My dear, Can never be again.

1876

THE surges gushed and sounded, The blue was the blue of June, And low above the brightening east Floated a shred of moon.

The woods were black and solemn, The night winds large and free, And in your thought a blessing seemed To fall on land and sea.

1877

XXI

WE flash across the level. We thunder thro’ the bridges. We bicker down the cuttings. We sway along the ridges.

A rush of streaming hedges, Of jostling lights and shadows, Of hurtling, hurrying stations, Of racing woods and meadows.

We charge the tunnels headlong— The blackness roars and shatters. We crash between embankments— The open spins and scatters.

We shake off the miles like water, We might carry a royal ransom; And I think of her waiting, waiting, And long for a common hansom.

1876

XXII

THE West a glimmering lake of light, A dream of pearly weather, The first of stars is burning white— The star we watch together. Is April dead? The unresting year Will shape us our September, And April’s work is done, my dear— Do you not remember?

O gracious eve! O happy star, Still-flashing, glowing, sinking!— Who lives of lovers near or far So glad as I in thinking? The gallant world is warm and green, For May fulfils November. When lights and leaves and loves have been, Sweet, will you remember?

O star benignant and serene, I take the good to-morrow, That fills from verge to verge my dream, With all its joy and sorrow! The old, sweet spell is unforgot That turns to June December; And, tho’ the world remembered not, Love, we would remember.

1876

XXIII

THE skies are strown with stars, The streets are fresh with dew A thin moon drifts to westward, The night is hushed and cheerful. My thought is quick with you.

Near windows gleam and laugh, And far away a train Clanks glowing through the stillness: A great content’s in all things, And life is not in vain.

1877

XXIV