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GERALD Ma.s.sEY.
1828.
_SONG._
All glorious as the Rainbow's birth, She came in Spring-tide's golden hours; When Heaven went hand-in-hand with Earth, And May was crowned with buds and flowers!
The mounting devil at my heart Clomb faintlier as my life did win The charmed heaven, she wrought apart, To wake its slumbering Angel in!
With radiant mien she trod serene, And pa.s.sed me smiling by!
O! who that looked could chance but love?
Not I, sweet soul, not I.
The dewy eyelids of the Dawn Ne'er oped such heaven as hers can show: It seemed her dear eyes might have shone As jewels in some starry brow.
Her face flashed glory like a shrine, Or lily-bell with sunburst bright; Where came and went love-thoughts divine, As low winds walk the leaves in light: She wore her beauty with the grace Of Summer's star-clad sky; O! who that looked could help but love?
Not I, sweet soul, not I.
Her budding b.r.e.a.s.t.s like fragrant fruit Of love were ripening to be pressed: Her voice, that shook my heart's red root, Yet might not break a babe's soft rest!
More liquid than the running brooks, More vernal than the voice of Spring, When Nightingales are in their nooks, And all the leafy thickets ring.
The love she coyly hid at heart Was shyly conscious in her eye; O! who that looked could help but love?
Not I, sweet soul, not I.
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
ARTHUR O'SHAUGHNESSY.
1844-1881.
_A LOVE SYMPHONY._
Along the garden ways just now I heard the flowers speak; The white rose told me of your brow, The red rose of your cheek; The lily of your bended head, The bindweed of your hair: Each looked its loveliest and said You were more fair.
I went into the wood anon, And heard the wild birds sing, How sweet you were; they warbled on, Piped, trilled the self-same thing.
Thrush, blackbird, linnet, without pause, The burden did repeat, And still began again because You were more sweet.
And then I went down to the sea, And heard it murmuring too, Part of an ancient mystery, All made of me and you.
How many a thousand years ago I loved, and you were sweet-- Longer I could not stay, and so I fled back to your feet.
_I MADE ANOTHER GARDEN._
I made another garden, yea, For my new love; I left the dead rose where it lay, And set the new above.
Why did the summer not begin?
Why did my heart not haste?
My old love came and walked therein, And laid the garden waste.
She entered with her weary smile, Just as of old; She looked around a little while, And shivered at the cold.
Her pa.s.sing touch was death to all, Her pa.s.sing look a blight; She made the white rose-petals fall, And turned the red rose white.
Her pale robe, clinging to the gra.s.s, Seemed like a snake That bit the gra.s.s and ground, alas!
And a sad trail did make.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Full-page Plate]
She went up slowly to the gate; And there, just as of yore, She turned back at the last to wait, And say farewell once more.
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.
1825-1864.
_THE LOST CHORD._
Seated one day at the Organ, I was weary and ill at ease, And my fingers wandered idly Over the noisy keys.
I do not know what I was playing, Or what I was dreaming then; But I struck one chord of music, Like the sound of a great Amen.
It flooded the crimson twilight Like the close of an Angel's Psalm, And it lay on my fevered spirit With a touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow, Like love overcoming strife; It seemed the harmonious echo From our discordant Life.
It linked all perplexed meanings Into one perfect peace, And trembled away into silence As if it were loth to cease.
I have sought, but I seek it vainly, That one lost chord divine, Which came from the soul of the Organ, And entered into mine.
It may be that Death's bright angel Will speak in that chord again,-- It may be that only in Heaven I shall hear that grand Amen.
_SENT TO HEAVEN._
I had a Message to send her, To her whom my soul loved best; But I had my task to finish, And she was gone home to rest.
To rest in the far bright heaven; Oh, so far away from here, It was vain to speak to my darling, For I knew she could not hear!
I had a message to send her, So tender, and true, and sweet, I longed for an Angel to bear it, And lay it down at her feet.
