Robert F. Murray: His Poems with a Memoir Part 7

Soon enough, to Death and thee, The a.s.sembly call shall come.

Soldier, rest awhile at home.

ONE TEAR

Last night, when at parting Awhile we did stand, Suddenly starting, There fell on my hand

Something that burned it, Something that shone In the moon as I turned it, And then it was gone.

One bright stray jewel-- What made it stray?

Was I cold or cruel, At the close of day?

Oh, do not cry, la.s.s!

What is crying worth?

There is no la.s.s like my la.s.s In the whole wide earth.

A LOVER'S CONFESSION

When people tell me they have loved But once in youth, I wonder, are they always moved To speak the truth?

Not that they wilfully deceive: They fondly cherish A constancy which they would grieve To think might perish.

They cherish it until they think 'Twas always theirs.

So, if the truth they sometimes blink, 'Tis unawares.

Yet unawares, I must profess, They do deceive Themselves, and those who questionless Their tale believe.

For I have loved, I freely own, A score of times, And woven, out of love alone, A hundred rhymes.

Boys will be fickle. Yet, when all Is said and done, I was not one whom you could call A flirt--not one

Of those who into three or four Their hearts divide.

My queens came singly to the door, Not side by side.

Each, while she reigned, possessed alone My spirit loyal, Then left an undisputed throne To one more royal,

To one more fair in form and face Sweeter and stronger, Who filled the throne with truer grace, And filled it longer.

So, love by love, they came and pa.s.sed, These loves of mine, And each one brighter than the last Their lights did s.h.i.+ne.

Until--but am I not too free, Most courteous stranger, With secrets which belong to me?

There is a danger.

Until, I say, the perfect love, The last, the best, Like flame descending from above, Kindled my breast,

Kindled my breast like ardent flame, With quenchless glow.

I knew not love until it came, But now I know.

You smile. The twenty loves before Were each in turn, You say, the final flame that o'er My soul should burn.

Smile on, my friend. I will not say You have no reason; But if the love I feel to-day Depart, 'tis treason!

If this depart, not once again Will I on paper Declare the loves that waste and wane, Like some poor taper.

No, no! This flame, I cannot doubt, Despite your laughter, Will burn till Death shall put it out, And may be after.

TRAFALGAR SQUARE

These verses have I pilfered like a bee Out of a letter from my C. C. C.

In London, showing what befell him there, With other things, of interest to me.

One page described a night in open air He spent last summer in Trafalgar Square, With men and women who by want are driven Thither for lodging, when the nights are fair.

No roof there is between their heads and heaven, No warmth but what by ragged clothes is given, No comfort but the company of those Who with despair, like them, have vainly striven.

On benches there uneasily they doze, s.n.a.t.c.hing brief morsels of a poor repose, And if through weariness they might sleep sound, Their eyes must open almost ere they close.

With even tramp upon the paven ground, Twice every hour the night patrol comes round To clear these wretches off, who may not keep The miserable couches they have found.

Yet the stern shepherds of the poor black sheep Will soften when they see a woman weep.

There was a mother there who strove in vain, With sobs, to hush a starving child to sleep.

And through the night which took so long to wane, He saw sad sufferers relieving pain, And daughters of iniquity and scorn Performing deeds which G.o.d will not disdain.

There was a girl, forlorn of the forlorn, Whose dress was white, but draggled, soiled, and torn, Who wandered like a ghost without a home.

She spoke to him before the day was born.

She, who all night, when spoken to, was dumb, Earning dislike from most, abuse from some, Now asked the hour, and when he told her 'Two,'

Wailed, 'O my G.o.d, will daylight never come?'

Yes, it will come, and change the sky anew From star-besprinkled black to sunlit blue, And bring sweet thoughts and innocent desires To countless girls. What will it bring to you?

A SUMMER MORNING