A Woman's Love Letters Part 3

He will come, my sweet, And will haste to meet Those hurrying feet And those sea-blue eyes.

I know the day Must weary away, And my s.h.i.+p's in the bay,-- In the clear, blue bay,-- Ah! there's wind in the west, For the waves have a crest, But my bird's in the nest And my s.h.i.+p's in the bay!

Grat.i.tude.

There are some things, dear Friend, are easier far To say in written words than when we sit Eye answering eye, or hand to hand close knit.

Not that there is between us any bar Of shyness or reserve; the day is past For that, and utter trust has come at last.

Only, when shut alone and safe inside These four white walls,--hearing no sound except Our own heart-beatings, silences have crept Stealthily round us,--as the incoming tide Quiet and unperceived creeps ever on Till mound and pebble, rock and reef are gone.

Or out on the green hillside, even there There is a hush, and words and thoughts are still.

For the trees speak, and myriad voices fill With wondrous echoes all the waiting air.

We listen, and in listening must forget Our own hearts' murmur, and our spirits' fret;

Even our joys,--thou knowest;--when the air Is full to overflowing with the sense Of hope fulfilled and pa.s.sion's vehemence.

There is no place for words; we do not dare To break Love's stillness, even though the power Were ours by speech to lengthen out the hour.

But here in quietness I can recall All I would tell thee, how thou art to me Impulse and inspiration, and with thee I can but smile though all my idols fall.

I wait my meed as others who have known Patience till to their utmost stature grown.

As when the heavens are draped in gloomy gray And earth is tremulous with a vague unrest A glory fills the tender, troubled West That glads the closing of November's day, So breaks in sun-smiles my beclouded sky When day is over and I know thee nigh.

Thou art so much, all this and more, to me, And what am I to thee? Can I repay These many gifts? Is there no royal way Of recompense, so I may proudly see The man my heart delights to praise renowned For wealth and honor, and with rapture crowned?

Ah! though there is no recompense in love Yet have I paid thee, given these gifts to thee, Joy, riches, wors.h.i.+p. Thou hast joy in me, Is it not so, Beloved? Who shall prove No wors.h.i.+p of thee by my soul confessed?

And riches? Ah! a wealth of love is best.

Song.

I have known a thousand pleasures,-- Love is best-- Ocean's songs and forest treasures, Work and rest, Jewelled joys of dear existence, Triumph over Fate's resistance, But to prove, through Time's wide distance, Love is best.

Prayer.

I stood upon a hill, and watched the death Of the day's turmoil. Still the glory spread Cloud-top to cloud-top, and each rearing head Trembled to crimson. So a mighty breath From some wild t.i.tan in a rising ire Might kindle flame in voicing his desire.

Soft stirred the evening air; the pine-crowned hills Glowed in an answering rapture where the flush Grew to a blood-drop, and the vesper hush Moved in my soul, while from my life all ills Faded and pa.s.sed away. G.o.d's voice was there And in my heart the silence was a prayer.

There was a day when to my fearfulness Was born a joy, when doubt was swept afar A shadow and a memory, and a star Gleamed in my sky more bright for the distress.

The stillness breathed thanksgiving, and the air Wafted, methought, the incense of a prayer.

Heaven sets no bounds of bead-roll or appeal; And when the fiery heart with mute embrace Bends, tremblingly, but for a moment's s.p.a.ce It needs no words that cry, no limbs that kneel.

As meteors flash, so, in a moment's light, Life, darting forth, touches the Infinite.

All my prayers wordless? Nay, I can recall A night not so long past but that each thought Lives at this hour, and throbs again unsought When Silence broods, and Night's chill shadows fall; Then Darkness' thousand pulses thrilled and stirred With the dear grace of a remembered word;

And I was still, thy voice enshrouding me.

Like the strong sweep of ocean-breath the power Of one resistless thought transformed my hour Of love-dreams to a fear. All hopelessly I knew love's impotence, and my despair Stretched soul-hands forth, and quivered to a prayer.

My pa.s.sionate heart cried out: "If his dear life Through stress of keen temptation merits aught Of penance or requital, be it wrought Upon _my_ life. If only through the strife Is won the peace, through drudgery the gain, Give him the issue, and to me the pain!"

Some day, in our soul's course o'er trackless lands, Swayed oft by adverse winds, or swept along In Fate's wild current with the fluttering throng Towards Sin's engulfing maelstrom, spirit hands Will brace our trembling wings, and through the night Point and upbear in our last trembling flight.

Song.

Red gleams the mountain ridge, Slow the stream creeps Under the old bent bridge, And labor sleeps.

There are no restless birds, No leaves that stir, Dusk her gray mantle girds, Night's harbinger.

The storm-soul's change and start Pause, lull, and cease; In my unquiet heart Is born a peace.

Loneliness.

Dear, I am lonely, for the bay is still As any hill-girt lake; the long brown beach Lies bare and wet. As far as eye can reach There is no motion. Even on the hill Where the breeze loves to wander I can see No stir of leaves, nor any waving tree.

There is a great red cliff that fronts my view A bare, unsightly thing; it angers me With its unswerving-grim monotony.

The mackerel weir, with branching boughs askew Stands like a fire-swept forest, while the sea Laps it, with soothing sighs, continually.

There are no tempests in this sheltered bay, The stillness frets me, and I long to be Where winds sweep strong and blow tempestuously, To stand upon some hill-top far away And face a gathering gale, and let the stress Of Nature's mood subdue my restlessness.

An impulse seizes me, a mad desire To tear away that red-browed cliff, to sweep Its crest of trees and huts into the deep; To force a gap by axe, or storm, or fire, And let rush in with motion glad and free The rolling waves of the wild wondrous sea.

Sometimes I wonder if I am the child Of calm, law-loving parents, or a stray From some wild gypsy camp. I cannot stay Quiet among my fellows; when this wild Longing for freedom takes me I must fly To my dear woods and know my liberty.

It is this cringing to a social law That I despise, these changing, senseless forms Of fas.h.i.+on! And until a thousand storms Of G.o.d's impatience shall reveal the flaw In man's pet system, he will weave the spell About his heart and dream that all is well.

Ah! Life is hard, Dear Heart, for I am left To battle with my old-time fears alone I must live calmly on, and make no moan Though of my hoped-for happiness bereft.

Thou wilt not come, and still the red cliff lies Hiding my ocean from these longing eyes.

Sea-Song.

It sings to me, it sings to me, The sh.o.r.e-blown voice of the blithesome sea!