The Second Book of Modern Verse Part 36

Oh, beautiful at nightfall The soft spitting snow!

And beautiful the bare boughs Rubbing to and fro!

But the roaring of the fire, And the warmth of fur, And the boiling of the kettle Were beautiful to her!

I cannot but remember When the year grows old -- October -- November -- How she disliked the cold!

In the Monastery. [Norreys Jephson O'Conor]

Cold is the wind to-night, and rough the sea, Too rough for even the daring Dane to find A landing-place upon the frozen lea.

Cold is the wind.

The blast sweeps round the chapel from behind, Making the altar-light flare fitfully, While I must kneel and pray with troubled mind.

Patrick and Brigid, I have prayed to ye!

The night is over, and my task resigned To Colum. Though G.o.d's own dwelling shelter me, Cold is the wind.

The Narrow Doors. [Fannie Stearns Davis]

The Wide Door into Sorrow Stands open night and day.

With head held high and dancing feet I pa.s.s it on my way.

I never tread within it, I never turn to see The Wide Door into Sorrow.

It cannot frighten me.

The Narrow Doors to Sorrow Are secret, still, and low: Swift tongues of dusk that spoil the sun Before I even know.

My dancing feet are frozen.

I stare. I can but see.

The Narrow Doors to Sorrow They stop the heart in me.

-- Oh, stranger than my midnights Of loneliness and strife The Doors that let the dark leap in Across my sunny life!

"I Pa.s.s a Lighted Window". [Clement Wood]

I pa.s.s a lighted window And a closed door -- And I am not troubled Any more.

Though the road is murky, I am not afraid, For a shadow pa.s.ses On the lighted shade.

Once I knew the sesame To the closed door; Now I shall not enter Any more;

Nor will people pa.s.sing By the lit place, See our shadows marry In a gray embrace.

Strange a pa.s.sing shadow Has a long spell!

What can matter, knowing She does well?

How can life annoy me Any more?

Life: a lighted window And a closed door.

Doors. [Hermann Hagedorn]

Like a young child who to his mother's door Runs eager for the welcoming embrace, And finds the door shut, and with troubled face Calls and through sobbing calls, and o'er and o'er Calling, storms at the panel -- so before A door that will not open, sick and numb, I listen for a word that will not come, And know, at last, I may not enter more.

Silence! And through the silence and the dark By that closed door, the distant sob of tears Beats on my spirit, as on fairy sh.o.r.es The spectral sea; and through the sobbing -- hark!

Down the fair-chambered corridor of years, The quiet shutting, one by one, of doors.

Where Love once was. [James Oppenheim]

Where love once was, let there be no hate: Though they that went as one by night and day Go now alone, Where love once was, let there be no hate.

The seeds we planted together Came to rich harvest, And our hearts are as bins br.i.m.m.i.n.g with the golden plenty: Into our loneliness we carry granaries of old love . . .

And though the time has come when we cannot sow our acres together, And our souls need diverse fields, And a tilling apart, Let us go separate ways with a blessing each for each, And gentle parting, And let there be no hate, Where love once was.

Irish Love Song. [Margaret Widdemer]

Well, if the thing is over, better it is for me, The lad was ever a rover, loving and laughing free, Far too clever a lover not to be having still A la.s.s in the town and a la.s.s by the road and a la.s.s by the farther hill -- Love on the field and love on the path and love in the woody glen -- (Lad, will I never see you, never your face again?)

Ay, if the thing is ending, now I'll be getting rest, Saying my prayers and bending down to be stilled and blest, Never the days are sending hope till my heart is sore For a laugh on the path and a voice by the gate and a step on the shieling floor -- Grief on my ways and grief on my work and grief till the evening's dim -- (Lord, will I never hear it, never a sound of him?)