Poems by Hattie Howard Part 10

But, ah, they never shine at all!

My eyes _ignite_--I leave the hall, For wrathful tears have filled them; I could have crushed them on the spot-- The bugs, I mean!--and quite forgot That _stringing_ them had killed them.

Of Her who Died.

We look up to the stars tonight, Idolatrous of them, And dream that Heaven is in sight, And each a ray of purest light From some celestial gem In her bright diadem.

Before that lonely home we wait, Ah! nevermore to see Her lovely form within the gate Where heart and hearthstone desolate And vine and shrub and tree Seem asking: "Where is she?"

There is the cottage Love had planned-- Where hope in ashes lies-- A tower beautiful to stand, Her monument whose gentle hand And presence in the skies Make home of Paradise.

In wintry bleakness nature glows Beneath the stellar ray; We see the mold, but not the rose, And meditate if knowledge goes Into yon mound of clay, With her who pa.s.sed away.

Of sighs, and tears, and joys denied Do echoes reach up there?

Do seraphs know--G.o.d does--how wide And deep is sorrow's bitter tide Of dolor and despair, And darkness everywhere?

Dear angel, s.n.a.t.c.hed from our caress, So suddenly withdrawn, Alone are we and comfortless; As in a dome of emptiness The old routine goes on, Aimless, since thou art gone.

Oh, dearer unto us than aught In all the world beside Of thee to cherish blessed thought; So early thy sweet mission wrought, As friend, as promised bride, Who lived, and loved, and died.

Thanksgiving.

Nature, erewhile so marvelously lovely, is bereft Of her supernal charm; And with the few dead garlands of departed splendor left, Like c.r.a.pe upon her arm, In boreal hints, and sudden gusts That fan the glowing ember, By mult.i.tude of ways fulfills The promise of November.

Upon the path where Beauty, sylvan priestess, sped away, Lies the rich afterglow Of Indian Summer, bringing round the happy holiday That antedates the snow: The glad Thanksgiving time, the cheer, The festival commotion That stirs fraternal feeling from The mountains to the ocean.

O Hospitality! unclose thy bounty-laden hand In generous dealing, where Is gathered in reunion each long-severed household band, And let no vacant chair Show where the strongest, brightest link In love's dear chain is broken-- A symbol more pathetic than By language ever spoken.

Into the place held sacred to the memory of some Beloved absentee, Perchance pa.s.sed to the other sh.o.r.e, oh, let the stranger come And in gratuity Partake of festal favors that Shall sweeten hours of labor, And strengthen amity and love Unto his friend and neighbor.

Let grat.i.tude's pure incense in warm orisons ascend, A blessing to secure, And gracious impulse bearing largesse of good gifts extend To all deserving poor; So may the day be hallowed by Unstinted thanks and giving, In sweet remembrance of the dead And kindness to the living.

Receiving Sight.

In hours of meditation fraught With mem'ries of departed days, Comes oft a tender, loving thought Of one who shared our youthful plays.

In gayest sports and pleasures rife Whose happy nature reveled so, That on her ardent, joyous life A shadow lay, we did not know;

And bade her look one summer night Up to the sky that seemed to hold, In dying sunset splendor bright, All hues of sapphire, red, and gold.

How strange the spell that mystified Us all, and hushed our wonted glee, As sadly her sweet voice replied, "Why, don't you know I cannot see?"

Too true! those eyes bereft of sight No blemish bare, no drop-serene, But nothing in this world of light And beauty they had ever seen.

A dozen years in gentle ruth Their impress lent to brow and cheek, When precious words of sacred truth Led her the Saviour's face to seek.

Responsive unto earnest prayers Commingling love and penitence, A blessing came--not unawares-- In new and strange experience.

And all was light, as Faith's clear eye A brighter world than ours divined; For never clouds obscured the sky That she could see, while _we_ were blind.

Oh, it must be an awful thing To be shut out from light of day!-- From summer's grace, and bloom of spring In gladness words cannot portray.

But haply into every heart May enter that Celestial Light That doth to life's dark ways impart A radiance hid from mortal sight.

Revenge.

Beside my window day and night, Its tendrils reaching left and right, A morning glory grew; With blossoms covered, pink and white And deep, delicious blue.

Its care became my daily thought, Who to the sweet diversion brought A bit of florist skill To guide its progress, till it caught The meaning of my will.

When through the trellis in and out It bent and turned and climbed about And so ambitious grew, O'erleaped a chasm beyond the spout Where raindrops trickled through,

Then, in caressing, graceful way, Around a door k.n.o.b twined one day With modest show of pride; All unaware that danger lay Just on the other side.

An awkward, verdant "maid of work,"

Who dearly loved her tasks to shirk, While rummaging among Unused apartments, with a jerk The door wide open flung.

And lo! there lay, uprooted quite, The object of my heart's delight-- I did not weep or rant, And yet a grain or two of spite My secret thoughts would haunt.

So when at night her favorite beau Beside his charmer sat below-- That is, _dans le cuisine_-- Occurred, as all the neighbors know, A semi-tragic scene.

The garden hose, obscured from view, Turned on itself and drenched the two-- A hapless circ.u.mstance That lengthened out her "frizzes" new, But shrunk his Sunday pants.

Remember this was years agone-- The madcap now hath sober grown And hose is better wrought, And neither now would run alone The risk of being caught.

On the Common.

We met on "Boston Common"-- Of course it was by chance-- A sudden, unexpected, But happy circ.u.mstance That gave the dull October day A beautiful, refulgent ray.