The Home Book of Verse Volume Ii Part 146

Only to find Forever, blest By thine encircling arm; Only to lie beyond unrest In pa.s.sion's dreamy calm!

Only to meet and never part, To sleep and never wake,-- Heart unto heart and soul to soul, Dead for each other's sake.

Martha Gilbert d.i.c.kinson [18--

JANETTE'S HAIR

Oh, loosen the snood that you wear, Janette, Let me tangle a hand in your hair--my pet; For the world to me had no daintier sight Than your brown hair veiling your shoulders white; Your beautiful dark brown hair--my pet.

It was brown with a golden gloss, Janette, It was finer than silk of the floss--my pet; 'Twas a beautiful mist falling down to your wrist, 'Twas a thing to be braided, and jewelled, and kissed-- 'Twas the loveliest hair in the world--my pet.

My arm was the arm of a clown, Janette, It was sinewy, bristled, and brown--my pet; But warmly and softly it loved to caress Your round white neck and your wealth of tress, Your beautiful plenty of hair--my pet.

Your eyes had a swimming glory, Janette.

Revealing the old, dear story--my pet; They were gray with that chastened tinge of the sky When the trout leaps quickest to snap the fly, And they matched with your golden hair--my pet.

Your lips--but I have no words, Janette-- They were fresh as the twitter of birds--my pet, When the spring is young, and the roses are wet, With the dewdrops in each red bosom set, And they suited your gold brown hair--my pet.

Oh, you tangled my life in your hair, Janette, 'Twas a silken and golden snare--my pet; But, so gentle the bondage, my soul did implore The right to continue your slave evermore, With my fingers enmeshed in your hair--my pet.

Thus ever I dream what you were, Janette, With your lips, and your eyes, and your hair--my pet, In the darkness of desolate years I moan, And my tears fall bitterly over the stone That covers your golden hair--my pet.

Charles Graham Halpine [1829-1868]

THE DYING LOVER

The gra.s.s that is under me now Will soon be over me, Sweet; When you walk this way again I shall not hear your feet.

You may walk this way again, And shed your tears like dew; They will be no more to me then Than mine are now to you!

Richard Henry Stoddard [1825-1903]

"WHEN THE GRa.s.s SHALL COVER ME"

When the gra.s.s shall cover me, Head to foot where I am lying; When not any wind that blows, Summer blooms nor winter snows, Shall awake me to your sighing: Close above me as you pa.s.s, You will say, "How kind she was,"

You will say, "How true she was,"

When the gra.s.s grows over me.

When the gra.s.s shall cover me, Holden close to earth's warm bosom,-- While I laugh, or weep, or sing, Nevermore, for anything, You will find in blade and blossom, Sweet small voices, odorous, Tender pleaders in my cause, That shall speak me as I was-- When the gra.s.s grows over me.

When the gra.s.s shall cover me!

Ah, beloved, in my sorrow Very patient, I can wait, Knowing that, or soon or late, There will dawn a clearer morrow: When your heart will moan "Alas!

Now I know how true she was; Now I know how dear she was"-- When the gra.s.s grows over me!

Ina Donna Coolbrith [1842-1928]

GIVE LOVE TO-DAY

When the lean, gray gra.s.ses Cover me, bury me deep, No sea wind that pa.s.ses Shall break my sleep.

When you come, my lover, Sorrowful-eyed to me, Earth mine eyes will cover; I shall not see.

Though with sad words splendid, Praising, you call me dear, It will be all ended; I shall not hear.

You may live love's riot Laughingly over my head, But I shall lie quiet With the gray dead.

Love, you will not wake me With all your singing carouse.

Nor your dancing shake me In my dark house.

Though you should go weeping, Sorrowful for my sake, Fain to break my sleeping, I could not wake.

Now, ere time destroy us-- Shadows beneath and above; Death has no song joyous, Nor dead men love--

Now, while deep-eyed, golden, Love on the mountain sings, Let him be close holden; Fetter his wings.

Love, nor joy nor sorrow Troubles the end of day.

Leave the Fates to-morrow; Give Love to-day.

Ethel Talbot [18--

UNTIL DEATH

Make me no vows of constancy, dear friend, To love me, though I die, thy whole life long, And love no other till thy days shall end-- Nay, it were rash and wrong.

If thou canst love another, be it so; I would not reach out of my quiet grave To bind thy heart, if it should choose to go-- Love should not be a slave.

My placid ghost, I trust, will walk serene In clearer light than gilds those earthly morns, Above the jealousies and envies keen, Which sow this life with thorns.

Thou wouldst not feel my shadowy caress; If, after death, my soul should linger here; Men's hearts crave tangible, close tenderness, Love's presence, warm and near.

It would not make me sleep more peacefully That thou wert wasting all thy life in woe For my poor sake; what love thou hast for me, Bestow it ere I go.

Carve not upon a stone when I am dead The praises which remorseful mourners give To women's graves--a tardy recompense-- But speak them while I live.