The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 20

II

"DU BIST WIE EINE BLUME"

Fair art thou as a flower And innocent and shy: I look on thee and sorrow; I grieve, I know not why.

I long to lay, in blessing, My hand upon thy brow, And pray that G.o.d may keep thee As fair and pure as now.

1872.

EIGHT ECHOES FROM THE POEMS OF AUGUSTE ANGELLIER

I

THE IVORY CRADLE

The cradle I have made for thee Is carved of orient ivory, And curtained round with wavy silk More white than hawthorn-bloom or milk.

A twig of box, a lilac spray, Will drive the goblin-horde away; And charm thy childlike heart to keep Her happy dream and virgin sleep.

Within that pure and fragrant nest, I'll rock thy gentle soul to rest, With tender songs we need not fear To have a pa.s.sing angel hear.

Ah, long and long I fain would hold The snowy curtain's guardian fold Around thy crystal visions, born In clearness of the early morn.

But look, the sun is glowing red With triumph in his golden bed; Aurora's virgin whiteness dies In crimson glory of the skies.

The rapid flame will burn its way Through these white curtains, too, one day; The ivory cradle will be left Undone, and broken, and bereft.

II

DREAMS

Often I dream your big blue eyes, Though loth their meaning to confess, Regard me with a clear surprise Of dawning tenderness.

Often I dream you gladly hear The words I hardly dare to breathe,-- The words that falter in their fear To tell what throbs beneath.

Often I dream your hand in mine Falls like a flower at eventide, And down the path we leave a line Of footsteps side by side.

But ah, in all my dreams of bliss, In pa.s.sion's hunger, fever's drouth, I never dare to dream of this: My lips upon your mouth.

And so I dream your big blue eyes, That look on me with tenderness, Grow wide, and deep, and sad, and wise, And dim with dear distress.

III

THE GARLAND OF SLEEP

A wreath of poppy flowers, With leaves of lotus blended, Is carved on Life's facade of hours, From night to night suspended.

Along the columned wall, From birth's low portal starting, It flows, with even rise and fall, To death's dark door of parting.

How short each measured arc, How brief the columns' number!

The wreath begins and ends in dark, And leads from sleep to slumber.

The marble garland seems, With braided leaf and bloom, To deck the palace of our dreams As if it were a tomb.

IV

TRANQUIL HABIT

Dear tranquil Habit, with her silent hands, Doth heal our deepest wounds from day to day With cooling, soothing oil, and firmly lay Around the broken heart her gentle bands.

Her nursing is as calm as Nature's care; She doth not weep with us; yet none the less Her quiet fingers weave forgetfulness,-- We fall asleep in peace when she is there.

Upon the mirror of the mind her breath Is like a cloud, to hide the fading trace Of that dear smile, of that remembered face, Whose presence were the joy and pang of death.

And he who clings to sorrow overmuch, Weeping for withered grief, has cause to bless, More than all cries of pity and distress,-- Dear tranquil Habit, thy consoling touch!

V

THE OLD BRIDGE

On the old, old bridge, with its crumbling stones All covered with lichens red and gray, Two lovers were talking in sweet low tones: And we were they!

As he leaned to breathe in her willing ear The love that he vowed would never die, He called her his darling, his dove most dear: And he was I!

She covered her face from the pale moonlight With her trembling hands, but her eyes looked through, And listened and listened with long delight: And she was you!

On the old, old bridge, where the lichens rust, Two lovers are learning the same old lore; He tells his love, and she looks her trust: But we,--no more!

VI

EYES AND LIPS

1

Our silent eyes alone interpreted The new-born feeling in the heart of each: In yours I read your sorrow without speech, Your lonely struggle in their tears unshed.

Behind their dreamy sweetness, as a veil, I saw the moving lights of trouble s.h.i.+ne; And then my eyes were brightened as with wine, My spirit reeled to see your face grow pale!

Our deepening love, that is not yet allowed Another language than the eyes, doth learn To speak it perfectly: above the crowd Our looks exchange avowals and desires,-- Like wave-divided beacon lights that burn, And talk to one another by their fires.