Part 11

Smile on, O ye maskers, smile sweetly! Step lightly, bow low and laugh loud! Though the world is deceived and completely, I know ye, O sad-hearted crowd! I watch you with infinite pity: But play on, play ever your part, Be gleeful, be joyful, be witty! ’Tis better than showing the heart.

LIFE AND I

Life and I are lovers, straying Arm in arm along: Often like two children Maying, Full of mirth and song,

Life plucks all the blooming hours Growing by the way; Binds them on my brow like flowers, Calls me Queen of May.

Then again, in rainy weather, We sit vis-à-vis, Planning work we’ll do together In the years to be.

Sometimes Life denies me blisses, And I frown or pout; But we make it up with kisses Ere the day is out.

Woman-like, I sometimes grieve him, Try his trust and faith, Saying I shall one day leave him For his rival, Death.

Then he always grows more zealous, Tender, and more true; Loves the more for being jealous, As all lovers do.

Though I swear by stars above him, And by worlds beyond, That I love him—love him—love him; Though my heart is fond;

Though he gives me, doth my lover, Kisses with each breath— I shall one day throw him over, And plight troth with Death.

GUERDON

Upon the white cheek of the Cherub Year I saw a tear. Alas! I murmured, that the Year should borrow So soon a sorrow. Just then the sunlight fell with sudden flame: The tear became A wondrous diamond sparkling in the light— A beauteous sight.

Upon my soul there fell such woeful loss, I said, “The Cross Is grievous for a life as young as mine.” Just then, like wine, God’s sunlight shone from His high Heavens down; And lo! a crown Gleamed in the place of what I thought a burden— My sorrow’s guerdon.

SNOWED UNDER

Of a thousand things that the Year snowed under— The busy Old Year who has gone away— How many will rise in the Spring, I wonder, Brought to life by the sun of May? Will the rose-tree branches, so wholly hidden That never a rose-tree seems to be, At the sweet Spring’s call come forth unbidden, And bud in beauty, and bloom for me?

Will the fair green Earth, whose throbbing bosom Is hid like a maid’s in her gown at night, Wake out of her sleep, and with blade and blossom Gem her garments to please my sight? Over the knoll in the valley yonder The loveliest buttercups bloomed and grew; When the snow has gone that drifted them under, Will they shoot up sunward, and bloom anew?

When wild winds blew, and a sleet-storm pelted, I lost a jewel of priceless worth; If I walk that way when snows have melted, Will the gem gleam up from the bare brown Earth? I laid a love that was dead or dying, For the year to bury and hide from sight; But out of a trance will it waken, crying, And push to my heart, like a leaf to the light?

Under the snow lie things so cherished— Hopes, ambitions, and dreams of men— Faces that vanished, and trusts that perished, Never to sparkle and glow again. The Old Year greedily grasped his plunder, And covered it over and hurried away: Of the thousand things that he did, I wonder How many will rise at the call of May? O wise Young Year, with your hands held under Your mantle of ermine, tell me, pray!

“LEUDEMANNS-ON-THE-RIVER.”

Toward even, when the day leans down To kiss the upturned face of night, Out just beyond the loud-voiced town I know a spot of calm delight. Like crimson arrows from a quiver The red rays pierce the waters flowing, While we go dreaming, singing, rowing To Leudemanns-on-the-River.

The hills, like some glad mocking-bird, Send back our laughter and our singing, While faint—and yet more faint is heard The steeple bells all sweetly ringing. Some message did the winds deliver To each glad heart that August night, All heard, but all heard not aright, By Leudemanns-on-the-River.

Night falls as in some foreign clime, Between the hills that slope and rise. So dusk the shades at landing-time, We could not see each other’s eyes. We only saw the moonbeams quiver Far down upon the stream! that night The new moon gave but little light By Leudemanns-on-the-River.

How dusky were those paths that led Up from the river to the hall. The tall trees branching overhead Invite the early shades that fall. In all the glad blithe world, oh, never Were hearts more free from care than when We wandered through those walks, we ten, By Leudemanns-on-the-River.

So soon, so soon, the changes came. This August day we two alone, On that same river, not the same, Dream of a night for ever flown. Strange distances have come to sever The hearts that gaily beat in pleasure, Long miles we cannot cross or measure— From Leudemanns-on-the-River.

We’ll pluck two leaves, dear friend, to-day. The green, the russet! seems it strange So soon, so soon, the leaves can change! Ah me! so runs all life away. This night-wind chills me, and I shiver; The Summer-time is almost past. One more good-bye—perhaps the last To Leudemanns-on-the-River.

LITTLE BLUE HOOD

Every morning and every night There passes our window near the street, A little girl with an eye so bright, And a cheek so round and a lip so sweet! The daintiest, jauntiest little miss That ever any one longed to kiss,

She is neat as wax, and fresh to view, And her look is wholesome, and clean, and good. Whatever her gown, her hood is blue, And so we call her our “Little Blue Hood,” For we know not the name of the dear little lass, But we call to each other to see her pass,