Stories in Verse Part 2

In both his hands her hand he bound, And led her gayly through his place.

He said the dead years circled round, Hers was so like her mother's face.

He scarcely moves him from her side-- Her every hour with joy beguiles.

To make the gulf between us wide, He acts the miser of her smiles.

He brings her presents rich and rare-- Wrought gold by cunning hands impearled, Round opals that with scarlet glare, The lightning of each mimic world.

X.

SHE Pa.s.sED ME BY.

She bowed, and smiled, and pa.s.sed me by, She pa.s.sed me by!

O love, O lava breath that burns, 'Tis hard indeed to think she spurns Such wors.h.i.+ppers as you and I.

She smiled, and bowed, with stately pride; The bow the frosty smile belied.

She pa.s.sed me by.

She bowed, and smiled, and pa.s.sed me by, She pa.s.sed me by.

What more could any maiden do?

It did not prove she was untrue.

My heart is tired, I know not why.

I only know I weep and pray.

Love has its night as well as day.

She pa.s.sed me by.

XI.

MIND WITHOUT SOUL.

Some strange story I have read Of a man without a soul.

Mind he had, though soul had fled; Magic gave him gifts instead, And the form of youth he stole.

Grows a rose-azalea white, In my garden, near the way.

I who see it with delight, Dream its soul of odor might, In the past, have fled away.

Blanche (O, sweet, you are so fair, So sweet, so fair, whate'er you do), Twine no azalea in your hair, Lest I think in my despair, Heart and soul have left you too.

XII.

A BROKEN SWORD.

Deep in the night I saw the sea, And overhead, the round moon white; Its steel cold gleam lay on the lea, And seemed my sword of life and light, Broke in that war death waged with me.

I heard the dip of golden oars; Twelve angels stranded in a boat; We sailed away for other sh.o.r.es; Though but an hour we were afloat, We harbored under heavenly doors.

O, Blanche, if I had run my race, And if I wore my winding sheet, And mourners went about the place, Would you so much as cross the street, To kiss in death my white, cold face?

XIII.

A CHANCE FOR GAIN.

I met him in the busy mart; His eyes are large, his lips are firm, And on his temples, care or sin Has left its claw prints hardened in; His step is nervous and infirm; I wondered if he had a heart.

He blandly smiled and took my hand.

He owed me such a debt, he thought, He felt he never could repay; Yet should I call on him that day, He'd hand me what the papers brought, For which I once had made demand.

Then added, turning grave from gay; "But you must promise, if I give, Your lover's office to resign, And stand no more 'twixt me and mine."

His words were water in a sieve.

I turned my back and strode away.

XIV.

THE LIGHT-HOUSE.

At twilight, past the fountain, I wandered in the park, And saw a closed white lily Sway on the liquid dark; And a fire-fly, perched upon it, Shone out its fitful spark.

I fancied it a light-house Mooned on a sky-like sea, To warn the fearless sailors Of lurking treachery-- Of unseen reefs and shallows That starved for wrecks to be.

O Blanche, O love that spurns me, 'Tis but a cheat thou art.

I would some friendly light-house Had warned me to depart From the secret reefs and shallows That hide about your heart.

XV.

DARKNESS.

My hopes and my ambition all were down, Like gra.s.s the mower turneth from its place; The night's thick darkness was an angry frown, And earth a tear upon the cheek of s.p.a.ce.

The mighty fiend of storm in wild unrest, By lightning stabbed, dragged slowly up the plain; Great clots of light, like blood, dripped down his breast, And from his open jaws fell foam in rain.

XVI.

IN THE CHURCH-YARD.

Where the sun s.h.i.+neth, Through the willow trees, And the church standeth, 'Mid the tomb-stones white, Planting anemones I saw my delight.

Her mother sleepeth Beneath the green mound; A white cross standeth To show man the place.

Now close to the ground Blanche bendeth her face.

She quickly riseth As she hears my walk, And sadly smileth Through mists of tears; We mournfully talk Of departed years.

She downward droopeth Her beautiful head, And a blue-bell seemeth That blossometh down; Trembling with dread, Lest the sky should frown.

She dearer seemeth Than ever before.

She gently chideth My more distant way.

At her heart's one door I entered to-day.

No palace standeth As happy as this.

Love ever ruleth Its precincts alone-- His sceptre a kiss, And a smile his throne.