A Woman's Love Letters Part 5

She smiled, but it was not the welcoming smile Of frank surrender. As a witching maid In gorgeous garments cunningly arrayed Might smile and draw them closer, hers the guile To let men hope, pray, labor in love's stress Ere they her hidden beauties may possess.

Deep in the heart of earth where the springs rise, Down with the sweet linnaea and the moss, In the brown thrush's throat, where the pines toss In Winter's harrying storms her secret lies.

Ours the chill night-dews and the waiting pain Ere we her fairy wealth may hope to gain.

'Tis so with knowledge. Eagerly we turn Great Wisdom's page, and when our clear eyes grow Dim in the dusk of years, and heads bend low Weary at last, the truth we strove to learn Is ours forever. But its joy of sight Is dearly bought, methinks, with Youth's delight.

Fate, too, with chaffering voice and beckoning hand Doles out our happiness; we s.n.a.t.c.h at wealth And pay with anxious care and fading health.

We call for Love, and dream that we shall stand On ground enchanted, but, though sweet the way, The rocks are sharp, and grief comes with the Day.

Even in love, Dear Heart, there is exchange Of gifts and griefs, and so I render thee Vows for thy vows, and pay unfalteringly What love demands, nor ever deem it strange.

And when the snow drifts fast, and north-winds sting I make no murmur, but await the Spring.

Song.

Joy came in youth as a humming-bird, (Sing hey! for the honey and bloom of life!) And it made a home in my summer bower With the honeysuckle and the sweet-pea flower.

(Sing hey! for the blossoms and sweets of life!)

Joy came as a lark when the years had gone, (Ah! hush, hush still, for the dream is short!) And I gazed far up to the melting blue Where the rare song dropped like a golden dew.

(Ah! sweet is the song tho' the dream be short!)

Joy hovers now in a far-off mist, (The night draws on and the air breathes snow!) And I reach, sometimes, with a trembling hand To the red-tipped cloud of the joy-bird's land.

(Alas! for the days of the storm and the snow!)

To-Morrow.

But one short night between my Love and me!

I watch the soft-shod dusk creep wistfully Through the slow-moving curtains, pausing by And shrouding with its spirit-fingers free Each well-known chair. There is a growing grace Of tender magic in this little place.

Comes through half-opened windows, soft and cool As Spring's young breath, the vagrant evening air, My day-worn soul is hushed. I fain would bear No burdens on my brain to-night, no rule Of anxious thought; the world has had my tears, My thoughts, my hopes, my aims these many years;

This is Thy hour, and I shall sink to sleep With a glad weariness, to know that when The new day dawns I shall lay by my pen Needed no more. If I, perchance, should weep A few quick tears, so doing, who would guess 'Twas the last throb of my soul's loneliness?

Not even thou, Dear Heart, canst ever know How I have yearned these many months, these years For love, for thee. As the calm boatman steers His slender shallop where he fain would go, Tempests and rocks before, so through the dark To this dim, far-off day has set my bark.

To-morrow! I can hear the quick-closed door, The approaching steps, my pained heart's fluttering, Thy voice, then Thee! And all the storm and sting Of bygone griefs are pa.s.sed forevermore, Swept from my life as the resistless wind Scatters the chaff, nor leaves a mote behind.

As long-imprisoned captives reach the light, And gaze with greedy eyes on field and tree, Drinking the beauties of the sky and sea Half fearful of their bliss; so from the night Of dreams and shades, half doubting, we awake And grasp the joy we almost fear to take.

Thou hidest in thy warm ones my cold hand, Reading my soul in these unwavering eyes.

Nay, thou hast known my hopes, my agonies Through written words, and thou canst understand.

I have kept nothing back of all the streams Of my heart-flowings--doubts, nor fears, nor dreams.

So long my life has followed no control But mine own impulse; now, I pray thee, bend My will to thine, and so, unhindered, tend My soul's wild garden. I have laid the whole Bare to thy sowing; and life's precious wine Is of thy pouring, and thy way is mine.

Song

Where is the waiting-time?

Where are the fears?

Gone with the winter's rime, The bygone years.

O'er life's plain, lone and vast, Slow treads the morn, Night shades have moved and pa.s.sed, Joy's day is born.

THE END.