Poems of Cheer Part 11

Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory, Die, O my heart, in thy rapture-swoon, For the Autumn must come with its mournful story, And Love's midsummer will fade too soon.

A REMINISCENCE

I saw the wild honey-bee kissing a rose A wee one, that grows Down low on the bush, where her sisters above Cannot see all that's done As the moments roll on.

Nor hear all the whispers and murmurs of love.

They flaunt out their beautiful leaves in the sun, And they flirt, every one, With the wild bees who pa.s.s, and the gay b.u.t.terflies.

And that wee thing in pink - Why, they never once think That she's won a lover right under their eyes.

It reminded me, Kate, of a time--you know when!

You were so pet.i.te then, Your dresses were short, and your feet were so small.

Your sisters, Maud-Belle And Madeline--well, They BOTH set their caps for me, after that ball.

How the blue eyes and black eyes smiled up in my face!

'Twas a neck-and-neck race, Till that day when you opened the door in the hall, And looked up and looked down, With your sweet eyes of brown, And YOU seemed so tiny, and _I_ felt so tall.

Your sisters had sent you to keep me, my dear, Till they should appear.

Then you were dismissed like a child in disgrace.

How meekly you went!

But your brown eyes, they sent A thrill to my heart, and a flush to my face.

We always were meeting some way after that.

You hung up my hat, And got it again, when I finished my call.

Sixteen, and SO sweet!

Oh, those cute little feet!

Shall I ever forget how they tripped down the hall?

Shall I ever forget the first kiss by the door, Or the vows murmured o'er, Or the rage and surprise of Maud-Belle? Well-a-day, How swiftly time flows, And who would suppose That a BEE could have carried me so far away.

A GIRL'S FAITH

Across the miles that stretch between, Through days of gloom or glad sunlight, There s.h.i.+nes a face I have not seen Which yet doth make my world more bright.

He may be near, he may be far, Or near or far I cannot see, But faithful as the morning star He yet shall rise and come to me.

What though fate leads us separate ways, The world is round, and time is fleet.

A journey of a few brief days, And face to face we two shall meet.

Shall meet beneath G.o.d's arching skies, While suns shall blaze, or stars shall gleam, And looking in each other's eyes Shall hold the past but as a dream.

But round and perfect and complete, Life like a star shall climb the height, As we two press with willing feet Together toward the Infinite.

And still behind the s.p.a.ce between, As back of dawns the sunbeams play, There s.h.i.+nes the face I have not seen, Whose smile shall wake my world to-day.

TWO

One leaned on velvet cus.h.i.+ons like a queen - To see him pa.s.s, the hero of an hour, Whom men called great. She bowed with languid mien, And smiled, and blushed, and knew her beauty's power.

One trailed her tinselled garments through the street, And thrust aside the crowd, and found a place So near, the blooded courser's prancing feet Cast sparks of fire upon her painted face.

One took the hot-house blossoms from her breast, And tossed them down, as he went riding by, And blushed rose-red to see them fondly pressed To bearded lips, while eye spoke unto eye.

One, bold and hardened with her sinful life, Yet shrank and s.h.i.+vered painfully, because His cruel glance cut keener than a knife, The glance of him who made her what she was.

One was observed, and lifted up to fame, Because the hero smiled upon her! while One who was shunned and hated, found her shame In basking in the death-light of his smile.

SLIPPING AWAY

Slipping away--slipping away!

Out of our brief year slips the May; And Winter lingers, and Summer flies; And Sorrow abideth, and Pleasure dies; And the days are short, and the nights are long; And little is right, and much is wrong.

Slipping away is the Summer time; It has lost its rhythm and lilting rhyme - For the grace goes out of the day so soon, And the tired head aches in the glare of noon, And the way seems long to the hills that lie Under the calm of the western sky.

Slipping away are the friends whose worth Lent a glow to the sad old earth: One by one they slip from our sight; One by one their graves gleam white; Or we count them lost by the crueller death Of a trust betrayed, or a murdered faith.

Slipping away are the hopes that made Bliss out of sorrow, and sun out of shade, Slipping away is our hold on life; And out of the struggle and wearing strife, From joys that diminish, and woes that increase, We are slipping away to the sh.o.r.es of Peace.

IS IT DONE?

It is done! in the fire's fitful flashes, The last line has withered and curled.

In a tiny white heap of dead ashes Lie buried the hopes of your world.

There were mad foolish vows in each letter, It is well they have shrivelled and burned, And the ring! oh, the ring was a fetter, It was better removed and returned.

But ah, is it done? In the embers Where letters and tokens were cast, Have you burned up the heart that remembers, And treasures its beautiful past?

Do you think in this swift reckless fas.h.i.+on To ruthlessly burn and destroy The months that were freighted with pa.s.sion, The dreams that were drunken with joy?

Can you burn up the rapture of kisses That flashed from the lips to the soul, Or the heart that grows sick for lost blisses In spite of its strength of control?

Have you burned up the touch of warm fingers That thrilled through each pulse and each vein, Or the sound of a voice that still lingers And hurts with a haunting refrain?