Maurine and Other Poems Part 24

The spirit of the unattained, I am to those who seek to name me, A good desired but never gained.

All shall pursue, but none shall claim me."

IN THE CROWD.

How happy they are, in all seeming, How gay, or how smilingly proud, How brightly their faces are beaming, These people who make up the crowd.

How they bow, how they bend, how they flutter, How they look at each other and smile, How they glow, and what _bon mots_ they utter!

But a strange thought has found me the while!

It is odd, but I stand here and fancy These people who now play a part, All forced by some strange necromancy To speak, and to act, from the heart.

What a hush would come over the laughter!

What a silence would fall on the mirth!

And then what a wail would sweep after, As the night-wind sweeps over the earth.

If the secrets held under and hidden In the intricate hearts of the crowd, Were suddenly called to, and bidden To rise up and cry out aloud, How strange one would look to another!

Old friends of long standing and years-- Own brothers would not know each other, Robed new in their sorrows and fears.

From broadcloth, and velvet, and laces, Would echo the groans of despair, And there would be blanching of faces And wringing of hands and of hair.

That man with his record of honor, That lady down there with the rose, That girl with Spring's freshness upon her, Who knoweth the secrets of those?

Smile on, O ye maskers, smile sweetly!

Step lightly, bow low and laugh loud!

Though the world is deceived and completely, I know ye, O sad-hearted crowd!

I watch you with infinite pity: But play on, play ever your part, Be gleeful, be joyful, be witty!

'Tis better than showing the heart.

LIFE AND I.

Life and I are lovers, straying Arm in arm along: Often like two children Maying, Full of mirth and song.

Life plucks all the blooming hours Growing by the way; Binds them on my brow like flowers; Calls me Queen of May.

Then again, in rainy weather, We sit vis-a-vis, Planning work we'll do together In the years to be.

Sometimes Life denies me blisses, And I frown or pout; But we make it up with kisses Ere the day is out.

Woman-like, I sometimes grieve him, Try his trust and faith, Saying I shall one day leave him For his rival Death.

Then he always grows more zealous, Tender, and more true; Loves the more for being jealous, As all lovers do.

Though I swear by stars above him, And by worlds beyond, That I love him--love him--love him; Though my heart is fond;

Though he gives me, doth my lover, Kisses with each breath-- I shall one day throw him over, And plight troth with Death.

GUERDON.

Upon the white cheek of the Cherub Year I saw a tear.

Alas! I murmured, that the Year should borrow So soon a sorrow.

Just then the sunlight fell with sudden flame: The tear became A wond'rous diamond sparkling in the light-- A beauteous sight.

Upon my soul there fell such woeful loss, I said, "The Cross Is grievous for a life as young as mine."

Just then, like wine, G.o.d's sunlight shone from His high Heavens down; And lo! a crown Gleamed in the place of what I thought a burden-- My sorrow's guerdon.

SNOWED UNDER.

Of a thousand things that the Year snowed under-- The busy Old Year who has gone away-- How many will rise in the Spring, I wonder, Brought to life by the sun of May?

Will the rose-tree branches, so wholly hidden That never a rose-tree seems to be, At the sweet Spring's call come forth unbidden, And bud in beauty, and bloom for me?

Will the fair, green Earth, whose throbbing bosom Is hid like a maid's in her gown at night, Wake out of her sleep, and with blade and blossom Gem her garments to please my sight?

Over the knoll in the valley yonder The loveliest b.u.t.tercups bloomed and grew; When the snow has gone that drifted them under, Will they shoot up sunward, and bloom anew?

When wild winds blew, and a sleet-storm pelted, I lost a jewel of priceless worth; If I walk that way when snows have melted, Will the gem gleam up from the bare, brown Earth?

I laid a love that was dead or dying, For the year to bury and hide from sight; But out of a trance will it waken, crying, And push to my heart, like a leaf to the light?

Under the snow lie things so cherished-- Hopes, ambitions, and dreams of men-- Faces that vanished, and trusts that perished, Never to sparkle and glow again.

The Old Year greedily grasped his plunder, And covered it over and hurried away: Of the thousand things that he did, I wonder How many will rise at the call of May?

O wise Young Year, with your hands held under Your mantle of ermine, tell me, pray!

PLATONIC.

I knew it the first of the Summer-- I knew it the same at the end-- That you and your love were plighted, But couldn't you be my friend?

Couldn't we sit in the twilight, Couldn't we walk on the sh.o.r.e, With only a pleasant friendship To bind us, and nothing more?

There was never a word of nonsense Spoken between us two, Though we lingered oft in the garden Till the roses were wet with dew.

We touched on a thousand subjects-- The moon and the stars above; But our talk was tinctured with science, With never a hint of love.

"A wholly platonic friendship,"

You said I had proved to you, "Could bind a man and a woman The whole long season through, With never a thought of folly, Though both are in their youth."

What would you have said, my lady, If you had known the truth?

Had I done what my mad heart prompted-- Gone down on my knees to you, And told you my pa.s.sionate story There in the dusk and dew; My burning, burdensome story, Hidden and hushed so long, My story of hopeless loving-- Say, would you have thought it wrong?

But I fought with my heart and conquered: I hid my wound from sight; You were going away in the morning And I said a calm good-night.

But now, when I sit in the twilight Or when I walk by the sea, That friendship quite "platonic"