The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 19

Do you know that my days of delight are done, Do you know I am going away?

If you covered your face with a cloud, I'd dream You were sorry for me in my pain, And the heavily drooping flowers would seem To be weeping with me in the rain.

But why is your head so low, sweet heart, And why are your eyes overcast?

Are you crying because you know we must part, Do you think this embrace is our last?

Then kiss me again, and again, and again, Look up as you bid me good-bye!

For your face is too dear for the stain of a tear, And your smile is the sun in my sky.

THE BLACK BIRDS

I

Once, only once, I saw it clear,-- That Eden every human heart has dreamed A hundred times, but always far away!

Ah, well do I remember how it seemed, Through the still atmosphere Of that enchanted day, To lie wide open to my weary feet: A little land of love and joy and rest, With meadows of soft green, Rosy with cyclamen, and sweet With delicate breath of violets unseen,-- And, tranquil 'mid the bloom As if it waited for a coming guest, A little house of peace and joy and love Was nested like a snow-white dove.

II

From the rough mountain where I stood, Homesick for happiness, Only a narrow valley and a darkling wood To cross, and then the long distress Of solitude would be forever past,-- I should be home at last.

But not too soon! oh, let me linger here And feed my eyes, hungry with sorrow, On all this loveliness, so near, And mine to-morrow!

III

Then, from the wood, across the silvery blue, A dark bird flew, Silent, with sable wings.

Close in his wake another came,-- Fragments of midnight floating through The sunset flame,-- Another and another, weaving rings Of blackness on the primrose sky,-- Another, and another, look, a score, A hundred, yes, a thousand rising heavily From that accursed, dumb, and ancient wood, They boiled into the lucid air Like smoke from some deep caldron of despair!

And more, and more, and ever more, The numberless, ill-omened brood Flapping their ragged plumes, Possessed the landscape and the evening light With menaces and glooms.

Oh, dark, dark, dark they hovered o'er the place Where once I saw the little house so white Amid the flowers, covering every trace Of beauty from my troubled sight,-- And suddenly it was night!

IV

At break of day I crossed the wooded vale; And while the morning made A trembling light among the tree-tops pale, I saw the sable birds on every limb, Clinging together closely in the shade, And croaking placidly their surly hymn.

But, oh, the little land of peace and love That those night-loving wings had poised above,-- Where was it gone?

Lost, lost, forevermore!

Only a cottage, dull and gray, In the cold light of dawn, With iron bars across the door: Only a garden where the drooping head Of one sad rose, foreboding its decay, Hung o'er a barren bed: Only a desolate field that lay Untilled beneath the desolate day,-- Where Eden seemed to bloom I found but these!

So, wondering, I pa.s.sed along my way, With anger in my heart, too deep for words, Against that grove of evil-sheltering trees, And the black magic of the croaking birds.

WITHOUT DISGUISE

If I have erred in showing all my heart, And lost your favour by a lack of pride; If standing like a beggar at your side With naked feet, I have forgot the art Of those who bargain well in pa.s.sion's mart, And win the thing they want by what they hide; Be mine the fault as mine the hope denied, Be mine the lover's and the loser's part.

The sin, if sin it was, I do repent, And take the penance on myself alone; Yet after I have borne the punishment, I shall not fear to stand before the throne Of Love with open heart, and make this plea: "At least I have not lied to her nor Thee!"

AN HOUR

You only promised me a single hour: But in that hour I journeyed through a year Of life: the joy of finding you,--the fear Of losing you again,--the sense of power To make you all my own,--the sudden shower Of tears that came because you were more dear Than words could ever tell you,--then,--the clear Soft rapture when I plucked love's crimson flower.

An hour,--a year,--I felt your bosom rise And fall with mystic tides, and saw the gleam Of undiscovered stars within your eyes,-- A year,--an hour? I knew not, for the stream Of love had carried me to Paradise, Where all the forms of Time are like a dream.

"RAPPELLE-TOI"

Remember, when the timid light Through the enchanted hall of dawn is gleaming; Remember, when the pensive night Beneath her silver-sprinkled veil walks dreaming; When pleasure calls thee and thy heart beats high, When tender joys through evening shades draw nigh, Hark, from the woodland deeps A gentle whisper creeps, Remember!

Remember, when the hand of fate My life from thine forevermore has parted; When sorrow, exile, and the weight Of lonely years have made me heavy-hearted; Think of my loyal love, my last adieu; Absence and time are naught, if we are true; Long as my heart shall beat, To thine it will repeat, Remember!

Remember, when the cool, dark tomb Receives my heart into its quiet keeping, And some sweet flower begins to bloom Above the gra.s.sy mound where I am sleeping; Ah then, my face thou nevermore shalt see, But still my soul will linger close to thee, And in the holy place of night, The litany of love recite,-- Remember!

_Freely rendered from the French of Alfred de Musset._

LOVE'S NEARNESS

I think of thee when golden sunbeams glimmer Across the sea; And when the waves reflect the moon's pale shimmer I think of thee.

I see thy form when down the distant highway The dust-clouds rise; In darkest night, above the mountain by-way I see thine eyes.

I hear thee when the ocean-tides returning Aloud rejoice; And on the lonely moor in silence yearning I hear thy voice.

I dwell with thee; though thou art far removed, Yet thou art near.

The sun goes down, the stars shine out,--Beloved If thou wert here!

_From the German of Goethe_, 1898.

TWO SONGS OF HEINE

I

"EIN FICHTENBAUM"

A fir-tree standeth lonely On a barren northern height, Asleep, while winter covers His rest with robes of white.

In dreams, he sees a palm-tree In the golden morning-land; She droops alone and silent In burning wastes of sand.