The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems of life

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Poems of life

Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Release date: December 23, 2024 [eBook #74967]

Language: English

Original publication: EDINBURGH: W. P. NIMMO, HAW & MITCHELL, 1910

Credits: Debra Ella LaVergne

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF LIFE ***

POEMS

of

LIFE

BY

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Author of

POEMS OF PLEASURE; POEMS OF PASSION

POEMS OF REFLECTION; POEMS OF LOVE

OUT OF THE DEPTHS

EDINBURGH.

W. P. NIMMO, HAW & MITCHELL

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co.

at the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh

CONTENTS

LIFE

A SONG OF LIFE

CONVERSION

LIFE AND I

LIMITLESS

TWO SUNSETS

UNREST

ARTIST'S LIFE

NOTHING BUT STONES

SECRETS

USELESSNESS

WILL

WINTER RAIN

INEVITABLE

THE OCEAN OF SONG

GETHSEMANE

DUST-SEALED

ADVICE

OVER THE BANISTERS

MOMUS, GOD OF LAUGHTER

THE FAREWELL

THE PAST

"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN"

THE SONNET

NOTHING NEW

HELENA

NOTHING REMAINS

FINIS

APPLAUSE

LIFE

THE STORY

LET THEM GO

THE ENGINE

IN THE LONG RUN

A SONG

THE TWO GLASSES

WHAT WE NEED

IS IT DONE?

BURDENED

TO MARRY OR NOT TO MARRY?

A MARCH SNOW

COMRADES

IN THE CROWD

INTO SPACE

SNOWED UNDER

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

THE YEAR

THROUGH DIM EYES

TRUE CULTURE

WHAT GAIN?

THE CHRISTIAN'S NEW YEAR PRAYER

AND THEY ARE DUMB

POEMS OF LIFE

LIFE

I feel the great immensity of life.

All little aims slip from me, and I reach

My yearning soul toward the Infinite.

As when a mighty forest, whose green leaves

Have shut it in, and made it seem a bower

For lovers' secrets, or for children's sports,

Casts all its clustering foliage to the winds,

And lets the eye behold it, limitless,

And full of winding mysteries of ways:

So now with life that reaches out before,

And borders on the unexplained Beyond.

I see the stars above me, world on world:

I hear the awful language of all Space;

I feel the distant surging of great seas,

That hide the secrets of the Universe

In their eternal bosoms; and I know

That I am but an atom of the Whole.

A SONG OF LIFE

In the rapture of life and of living,

I lift up my heart and rejoice,

And I thank the great Giver for giving

The soul of my gladness a voice.

In the glow of the glorious weather,

In the sweet-scented, sensuous air,

My burdens seem light as a feather--

They are nothing to bear.

In the strength and the glory of power,

In the pride and the pleasure of wealth

(For who dares dispute me my dower

Of talents and youth-time and health?),

I can laugh at the world and its sages--

I am greater than seers who are sad,

For he is most wise in all ages

Who knows how to be glad.

I lift up my eyes to Apollo,

The god of the beautiful days,

And my spirit soars off like a swallow,

And is lost in the light of its rays.

Are you troubled and sad? I beseech you

Come out of the shadows of strife--

Come out in the sun while I teach you

The secret of life.

Come out of the world--come above it--

Up over its crosses and graves,

Though the green earth is fair and I love it,

We must love it as masters, not slaves.

Come up where the dust never rises--

But only the perfume of flowers--

And your life shall be glad with surprises

Of beautiful hours.

Come up where the rare golden wine is

Apollo distills in my sight,

And your life shall be happy as mine is,

And as full of delight.

CONVERSION

When this world's pleasures for my soul sufficed,

Ere my heart's plummet sounded depths of pain,

I called on Reason to control my brain,

And scoffed at that old story of the Christ.

But when o'er burning wastes my feet had trod,

And all my life was desolate with loss,

With bleeding hands I clung about the cross,

And cried aloud, "Man needs a suffering God!"

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.

LIMITLESS

There is nothing, I hold, in the way of work

That a human being may not achieve

If he does not falter, or shrink or shirk,

And more than all, if he will _believe_.

Believe in himself and the power behind

That stands like an aid on a dual ground,

With hope for the spirit and oil for the wound,

Ready to strengthen the arm or mind.

When the motive is right and the will is strong

There are no limits to human power;

For that great force back of us moves along

And takes us with it, in trial's hour.

And whatever the height you yearn to climb,

Tho' it never was trod by the foot of man,

And no matter how steep--I say you _can_,

If you will be patient-and use your time.

TWO SUNSETS

In the fair morning of his life,

When his pure heart lay in his breast,

Panting, with all that wild unrest

To plunge into the great world's strife

That fills young hearts with mad desire,

He saw a sunset. Red and gold

The burning billows surged and rolled,

And upward tossed their caps of fire.

He looked. And as he looked, the sight

Sent from his soul through breast and brain

Such intense joy, it hurt like pain.

His heart seemed bursting with delight.

So near the Unknown seemed, so close

He might have grasped it with his hands

He felt his inmost soul expand,

As sunlight will expand a rose.

One day he heard a singing strain--

A human voice, in bird-like trills.

He paused, and little rapture-rills

Went trickling downward through each vein.

And in his heart the whole day long,

As in a temple veiled and dim,

He kept and bore about with him

The beauty of that singer's song.

And then? But why relate what then?

His smouldering heart flamed into fire--

He had his one supreme desire,

And plunged into the world of men.

For years queen Folly held her sway.

With pleasures of the grosser kind

She fed his flesh and drugged his mind,

Till, shamed, he sated, turned away.

He sought his boyhood's home.

That hour Triumphant should have been, in sooth,

Since he went forth, an unknown youth,

And came back crowned with wealth and power.

The clouds made day a gorgeous bed;

He saw the splendour of the sky

With unmoved heart and stolid eye;

He only knew the West was red.

Then suddenly a fresh young voice

Rose, bird-like, from some hidden place,

He did not even turn his face--

It struck him simply as a noise.

He trod the old paths up and down.

Their rich-hued leaves by Fall winds whirled--

How dull they were--how dull the world--

Dull even in the pulsing town.

O! worst of punishments, that brings

A blunting of all finer sense,

A loss of feelings keen, intense,

And dulls us to the higher things.

O! penalty most dire, most sure,

Swift following after gross delights,

That we no more see beauteous sights,

Or hear as hear the good and pure.

O! shape more hideous and more dread

Than Vengeance takes in creed-taught minds,

This certain doom that blunts and blinds,

And strikes the holiest feelings dead.

UNREST

In the youth of the year, when the birds were building,

When the green was showing on tree and hedge,

And the tenderest light of all lights was gilding

The world from zenith to outermost edge,

My soul grew sad and longingly lonely!

I sighed for the season of sun and rose,

And I said, "In the Summer and that time only

Lies sweet contentment and blest repose."

With bee and bird for her maids of honour

Came Princess Summer in robes of green.

And the King of day smiled down upon her

And wooed her, and won her, and made her queen.

Fruit of their union and true love's pledges,

Beautiful roses bloomed day by day,

And rambled in gardens and hid in hedges

Like royal children in sportive play.

My restless soul for a little season

Revelled in rapture of glow and bloom,

And then, like a subject who harbours treason,

Grew full of rebellion and grey with gloom.

And I said, "I am sick of the summer's blisses,

Of warmth and beauty, and nothing more.

The full fruition my sad soul misses

That beauteous Fall-time holds in store!"

But now when the colours are almost blinding,

Burning and blending on bush and tree,

And the rarest fruits are mine for the finding,

And the year is ripe as a year can be,

My soul complains in the same old fashion;

Crying aloud in my troubled breast

Is the same old longing, the same old passion.

O where is the treasure which men call rest?

"ARTIST'S LIFE"

Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote,

Mad with melody, rhythm--rife

From the very first to the final note.

Give me his "Artist's Life!"

It stirs my blood to my finger-ends,

Thrills me and fills me with vague unrest,

And all that is sweetest and saddest blends

Together within my breast.

It brings back that night in the dim arcade,

In love's sweet morning and life's best prime,

When the great brass orchestra played and played,

And set our thoughts to rhyme.

It brings back that Winter of mad delights,

Of leaping pulses and tripping feet,

And those languid moon-washed Summer nights

When we heard the band in the street.

It brings back rapture and glee and glow,

It brings back passion and pain and strife,

And so of all the waltzes I know,

Give me the "Artist's Life."

For it is so full of the dear old time--

So full of the dear old friends I knew.

And under its rhythm, and lilt, and rhyme,

I am always finding--YOU.

NOTHING BUT STONES

I think I never passed so sad an hour,

Dear friend, as that one at the church to-night.

The edifice from basement to the tower

Was one resplendent blaze of coloured light.

Up through broad aisles the stylish crowd was thronging,

Each richly robed like some king's bidden guest.

"Here will I bring my sorrow and my longing,"

I said, "and here find rest."

I heard the heavenly organ's voice of thunder,

It seemed to give me infinite relief.

I wept. Strange eyes looked on in well-bred wonder.

I dried my tears: their gaze profaned my grief.

Wrapt in the costly furs, and silks, and laces,

Beat alien hearts, that had no part with me.

I could not read, in all those proud cold faces,

One thought of sympathy.

I watched them bowing and devoutly kneeling,

Heard their responses like sweet waters roll

But only the glorious organ's sacred pealing

Seemed gushing from a full and fervent soul.

I listened to the man of holy calling,

He spoke of creeds, and hailed his own as best;

Of man's corruption and of Adam's-falling,

But naught that gave me rest:

Nothing that helped me bear the daily grinding

Of soul with body, heart with heated brain;

Nothing to show the purpose of this blinding

And sometimes overwhelming sense of pain.

And then, dear friend, I thought of thee, so lowly,

So unassuming, and so gently kind,

And lo! a peace, a calm serene and holy,

Settled upon my mind.

Ah, friend, my friend! one true heart, fond and tender,

That understands our troubles and our needs,

Brings us more near to God than all the splendour

And pomp of seeming worship and vain creeds.

One glance of thy dear eyes so full of feeling,

Doth bring me closer to the Infinite

Than all that throng of worldly people kneeling

In blaze of gorgeous light.

SECRETS

Think not some knowledge rests with thee alone;

Why, even God's stupendous secret, Death,

We one by one, with our expiring breath,

Do pale with wonder seize and make our own;

The bosomed treasures of the earth are shown,

Despite her careful hiding; and the air

Yields its mysterious marvels in despair

To swell the mighty store-house of things known.

In vain the sea expostulates and raves;

It cannot cover from the keen world's sight

The curious wonders of its coral caves.

And so, despite thy caution or thy tears,

The prying fingers of detective years

Shall drag THY secret out into the light.

USELESSNESS

Let mine not be that saddest fate of all

To live beyond my greater self; to see

My faculties decaying, as the tree

Stands stark and helpless while its green leaves fall.

Let me hear rather the imperious call,

Which all men dread, in my glad morning time,

And follow death ere I have reached my prime,

Or drunk the strengthening cordial of life's gall.

The lightning's stroke or the fierce tempest blast

Which fells the green tree to the earth to-day

Is kinder than the calm that lets it last,

Unhappy witness of its own decay.

May no man ever look on me and say,

"She lives, but all her usefulness is past."

WILL

There is no chance, no destiny, no fate,

Can circumvent or hinder or control

The firm resolve of a determined soul.

Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great;

All things give way before it, soon or late.

What obstacle can stay the mighty force

Of the sea-seeking river in its course,

Or cause the ascending orb of day to wait?

Each well-born soul must win what it deserves.

Let the fool prate of luck. The fortunate

Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves,

Whose slightest action or inaction serve.

The one great aim.

Why, even Death stands still,

And waits an hour sometimes for such a will.

WINTER RAIN

Falling upon the frozen world last night

I heard the slow beat of the Winter rain--

Poor foolish drops, down-dripping all in vain;

The ice-bound Earth but mocked their puny might,

Far better had the fixedness of white

And uncomplaining snows--which make no sign,

But coldly smile, when pitying moonbeams shine--

Concealed its sorrow from all human sight.

Long, long ago, in blurred and burdened years,

I learned the uselessness of uttered woe.

Though sinewy Fate deals her most skilful blow,

I do not waste the gall now of my tears,

But feed my pride upon its bitter, while

I look straight in the world's bold eyes, and smile.

INEVITABLE

To-day I was so weary and I lay

In that delicious state of semi-waking,

When baby, sitting with his nurse at play,

Cried loud for "mamma," all his toys forsaking.

I was so weary and I needed rest,

And signed to nurse to bear him from the room.

Then, sudden, rose and caught him to my breast,

And kissed the grieving mouth and cheeks of bloom.

For swift as lightning came the thought to me,

With pulsing heart-throes and a mist of tears,

Of days inevitable, that are to be,

If my fair darling grows to manhood's years;

Days when he will not call for "mamma," when

The world, with many a pleasure and bright joy,

Shall tempt him forth into the haunts of men

And I shall lose the first place with my boy;

When other homes and loves shall give delight,

When younger smiles and voices will seem best.

And so I held him to my heart to-night,

Forgetting all my need of peace and rest.

THE OCEAN OF SONG

In a land beyond sight or conceiving,

In a land where no blight is, no wrong,

No darkness, no graves, and no grieving,

There lies the great ocean of song.

And its waves, oh, its waves unbeholden

By any save gods, and their kind,

Are not blue, are not green, but are golden,

Like moonlight and sunlight combined.

It was whispered to me that their waters

Were made from the gathered-up tears

That were wept by the sons and the daughters

Of long-vanished eras and spheres.

Like white sands of heaven the spray is

That falls all the happy day long,

And whoever it touches straightway is

Made glad with the spirit of song.

Up, up to the clouds where their hoary

Crowned heads melt away in the skies,

The beautiful mountains of glory

Each side of the song-ocean rise.

Here day is one splendour of sky-light--

Of God's light with beauty replete.

Here night is not night, but is twilight,

Pervading, enfolding, and sweet.

Bright birds from all climes and all regions,

That sing the whole glad summer long,

Are dumb, till they flock here in legions

And lave in the ocean of song.

It is here that the four winds of heaven,

The winds that do sing and rejoice,

It is here they first came and were given

The secret of sound and a voice.

Far down along beautiful beeches,

By night and by glorious day,

The throng of the gifted ones reaches,

Their foreheads made white with the spray,

And a few of the sons and the daughters

Of this kingdom, cloud-hidden from sight,

Go down in the wonderful waters,

And bathe in those billows of light.

And their souls evermore are like fountains,

And liquid and lucent and strong,

High over the tops of the mountains

Gush up the sweet billows of song.

No drouth-time of waters can dry them.

Whoever has bathed in that sea,

All dangers, all deaths, they defy them,

And are gladder than gods are, with glee.

GETHSEMANE

In golden youth when seems the earth

A Summer-land of singing mirth,

When souls are glad and hearts are light,

And not a shadow lurks in sight,

We do not know it, but there lieu

Somewhere veiled under evening skies

A garden which we all must see--

The garden of Gethsemane.

With joyous steps we go our ways,

Love lends a halo to our days;

Light sorrows sail like clouds afar,

We laugh, and say how strong we are.

We hurry on; and hurrying, go

Close to the borderland of woe

That waits for you, and waits for me--

Forever waits Gethsemane.

Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams,

Bridged over by our broken dreams;

Behind the misty caps of years,

Beyond the great salt fount of tears,

The garden lies. Strive as you may,

You cannot miss it in your way;

All paths that have been, or shall be,

Pass somewhere through Gethsemane.

All those who journey, soon or late,

Must pass within the garden's gate;

Must kneel alone in darkness there,

And battle with some fierce despair.

God pity those who cannot say,

"Not mine but Thine"; who only pray

"Let this cup pass," and cannot see

The PURPOSE in Gethsemane.

DUST-SEALED

I know not wherefore, but mine eyes

See bloom, where other eyes see blight.

They find a rainbow, a sunrise,

Where others but discern deep night.

Men call me an enthusiast,

And say I look through gilded haze:

Because where'er my gaze is cast,

I see something that calls for praise.

I say, "Behold those lovely eyes--

That tinted cheek of flower-like grace."

They answer in amused surprise:

"We thought it a common face."

I say, "Was ever seen more fair?

I seem to walk in Eden's bowers."

They answer, with a pitying air,

"The weeds are choking out the flowers."

I know not wherefore, but God lent

A deeper vision to my sight.

On whatsoe'er my gaze is bent

I catch the beauty Infinite;

That underlying, hidden half

That all things hold of Deity.

So let the dull crowd sneer and laugh--

Their eyes are blind, they cannot see.

"ADVICE"

I must do as you do? Your way I own

Is a very good way. And still,

There are sometimes two straight roads to a town,

One over, one under the hill.

You are treading the safe and the well-worn way,

That the prudent choose each time;

And you think me reckless and rash to-day,

Because I prefer to climb.

Your path is the right one, and so is mine.

We are not like peas in a pod,

Compelled to lie in a certain line,

Or else be scattered abroad.

'Twere a dull old world, methinks, my friend,

If we all went just one way;

Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end,

Though they lead apart to-day.

You like the shade, and I like the sun;

You like an even pace,

I like to mix with the crowd and run,

And then rest after the race.

I like danger, and storm and strife,

You like a peaceful time;

I like the passion and surge of life,

You like its gentle rhyme.

You like buttercups, dewy sweet,

And crocuses, framed in snow;

I like roses, born of the heat,

And the red carnation's glow.

I must live my life, not yours, my friend,

For so it was written down;

We must follow our given paths to the end,

But I trust we shall meet--in town.

OVER THE BANISTERS

Over the banisters bends a face,

Daringly sweet and beguiling.

Somebody stands in careless grace

And watching the picture, smiling.

The light burns dim in the hall below,

Nobody sees her standing,

Saying good-night again, soft and low,

Halfway up to the landing.

Nobody only the eyes of brown,

Tender and full of meaning,

That smile on the fairest face in town,

Over the banisters leaning.

Tired and sleepy, with drooping head,

I wonder why she lingers;

Now, when the good-nights all are said,

Why, somebody holds her fingers.

He holds her fingers and draws her down,

Suddenly growing bolder,

Till the loose hair drops its masses brown

Like a mantle over his shoulder.

Over the banisters soft hands, fair,

Brush his cheeks like a feather,

And bright brown tresses and dusky hair

Meet and mingle together.

There's a question asked, there's a swift caress,

She has flown like a bird from the hallway,

But over the banisters drops a "Yes,"

That shall brighten the world for him alway.

MOMUS, GOD OF LAUGHTER

Though with gods the world is cumbered,

Gods unnamed, and gods unnumbered,

Never god was known to be

Who had not his devotee.

So I dedicate to mine,

Here in verse, my temple-shrine.

'Tis not Ares,--mighty Mars,

Who can give success in wars.

'Tis not Morpheus, who doth keep

Guard above us while we sleep,

'Tis not Venus, she whose duty

'Tis to give us love and beauty;

Hail to these, and others, after

Momus, gleesome god of laughter.

Quirinus would guard my health,

Plutus would insure me wealth;

Mercury looks after trade,

Hera smiles on youth and maid.

All are kind, I own their worth,

After Momus, god of mirth.

Though Apollo, out of spite,

Hides away his face of light,

Though Minerva looks askance,

Deigning me no smiling glance,

Kings and queens may envy me

While I claim the god of glee.

Wisdom wearies, Love has wings--

Wealth makes burdens, Pleasure stings,

Glory proves a thorny crown--

So all gifts the gods throw down

Bring their pains and troubles after;

All save Momus, god of laughter.

He alone gives constant joy.

Hail to Momus, happy boy.

THE FAREWELL

'Tis not the untried soldier new to danger

Who fears to enter into active strife.

Amidst the roll of drums, the cannon's rattle,

He craves adventure, and thinks not of life.

But the scarred veteran knows the price of glory,

He does not court the conflict or the fray.

He has no longing to rehearse that gory

And most dramatic act, of war's dark play.

He who to love has always been a stranger

All unafraid may linger in your spell.

My heart has known the warfare, and its danger.

It craves no repetition--so farewell.

THE PAST

I fling my past behind me like a robe

Worn threadbare in the seams, and out of date.

I have outgrown it. Wherefore should I weep

And dwell upon its beauty, and its dyes

Of Oriental splendour, or complain

That I must needs discard it? I can weave

Upon the shuttles of the future years

A fabric far more durable. Subdued,

It may be, in the blending of its hues,

Where sombre shades commingle, yet the gleam

Of golden warp shall shoot it through and through,

While over all a fadeless lustre lies,

And starred with gems made out of crystalled tears,

My new robe shall be richer than the old.

"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN"

We will be what we could be. Do not say,

"It might have been, had not or that, or this."

No fate can keep us from the chosen way;

He only might, who IS.

We will do what we could do. Do not dream

Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve.

I hold, all men are greatly what they seem;

He does, who could achieve.

We will climb where we could climb. Tell me not

Of adverse storms that kept thee from the height.

What eagle ever missed the peak he sought?

He always climbs who might.

I do not like the phrase, "It might have been!"

It lacks all force, and life's best truths perverts

For I believe we have, and reach, and win,

Whatever our deserts.

THE SONNET

Alone it stands in Poesy's fair land,

A temple by the muses set apart;

A perfect structure of consummate art,

By artists builded and by genius planned,

Beyond the reach of the apprentice hand,

Beyond the ken of the untutored heart,

Like a fine carving in a common mart,

Only the favoured few will understand.

A chef d'œuvre toiled over with great care,

Yet which the unseeing careless crowd goes by,

A plainly set, but well-cut solitaire,

An ancient bit of pottery, too rare

To please or hold aught save the special eye,

These only with the sonnet can compare.

NOTHING NEW

FROM the dawn of spring till the year grows hoary,

Nothing is new that is done or said,

The leaves are telling the same old story--

"Budding, bursting, dying, dead."

And ever and always the wild birds' chorus

Is "coming, building, flying, fled."

Never the round Earth roams or ranges

Out of her circuit, so old, so old,

And the smile o' the sun knows but these changes--

Beaming, burning, tender, cold,

As spring-time softens or winter estranges

The mighty heart of this orb of gold.

From our great sire's birth to the last morn's breaking

There were tempest, sunshine, fruit, and frost.

And the sea was calm or the sea was shaking

His mighty mane like a lion crossed,

And ever this cry the heart was making--

Longing, loving, losing, lost.

For ever the wild wind wanders, crying,

Southerly, easterly, north and west,

And one worn song the fields are sighing,

"Sowing, growing, harvest, rest,"

And the tired thought of the world, replying

Like an echo to what is last and best,

Murmurs--"Rest."

HELENA

Last night I saw Helena. She whose praise

Of late all men have sounded. She for whom

Young Angus rashly sought a silent tomb

Rather than live without her all his days.

Wise men go mad who look upon her long,

She is so ripe with dangers. Yet meanwhile

I find no fascination in her smile,

Although I make her theme of this poor song.

"Her golden tresses?" yes, they may be fair,

And yet to me each shining silken tress

Seems robbed of beauty and all lustreless--

Too many hands have stroked Helena's hair.

(I know a little maiden so demure

She will not let her one true lover's hands

In playful fondness touch her soft brown bands

So dainty-minded is she, and so pure.)

"Her great dark eyes that flash like gems at night?

Large, long-lashed eyes and lustrous?" that may be,

And yet they are not beautiful to me.

Too many hearts have sunned in their delight.

(I mind me of two tender blue eyes, hid

So underneath white curtains, and so veiled

That I have sometimes plead for hours, and failed

To see more than the shyly lifted lid.)

"Her perfect mouth so liked a carved kiss?"

"Her honeyed-mouth, where hearts do, fly-like, drown?"

I would not taste its sweetness for a crown;

Too many lips have drank its nectared bliss.

(I know a mouth whose virgin dew, undried,

Lies like a young grape's bloom, untouched and sweet,

And though I plead in passion at her feet,

She would not let me brush it if I died.)

In vain, Helena! though wise men may vie

For thy rare smile, or die from loss of it,

Armoured by my sweet lady's trust, I sit,

And know thou are not worth her faintest sigh.

NOTHING REMAINS

Nothing remains of unrecorded ages

That lie in the silent cemetery time;

Their wisdom may have shamed our wisest sages,

Their glory may have been indeed sublime.

How weak do seem our strivings after power,

How poor the grandest efforts of our brains,

If out of all we are, in one short hour

Nothing remains.

Nothing remains but the Eternal Spaces,

Time and decay uproot the forest trees.

Even the mighty mountains leave their places,

And sink their haughty heads beneath strange seas

The great earth writhes in some convulsive spasms

And turns the proudest cities into plains.

The level sea becomes a yawning chasm--

Nothing remains.

Nothing remains but the Eternal Forces,

The sad seas cease complaining and grow dry,

Rivers are drained and altered in their courses,

Great stars pass out and vanish from the sky.

Ideas die and old religions perish,

Our rarest pleasures and our keenest pains

Are swept away with all we hate or cherish--

Nothing remains.

Nothing remains but the Eternal Nameless

And all-creative spirit of the Law,

Uncomprehended, comprehensive, blameless,

Invincible, resistless, with no flaw;

So full of love it must create for ever,

Destroying that it may create again,

Persistent and perfecting in endeavour,

It yet must bring forth angels, after men--

This, this remains!

FINIS

An idle rhyme of the summer time,

Sweet, and solemn, and tender;

Fair with the haze of the moon's pale rays,

Bright with the sunset's splendor.

Summer and beauty over the lands--

Careless hours of pleasure;

A meeting of eyes and a touching of hands--

A change in the floating measure.

A deeper hue in the skies of blue,

Winds from the tropics blowing;

A softer grace on the fair moon's face,

And the summer going, going.

The leaves drift down, the green grows brown,

And tears with smiles are blended;

A twilight hour and a treasured flower,--

And now the poem is ended.

APPLAUSE

I hold it one of the sad certain laws

Which makes our failures sometime seem more kind

Than that success which brings sure loss behind--

True greatness dies, when sounds the world's applause

Fame blights the object it would bless, because

Weighed down with men's expectancy, the mind

Can no more soar to those far heights, and find

That freedom which its inspiration was.

When once we listen to its noisy cheers

Or hear the populace' approval, then

We catch no more the music of the spheres,

Or walk with gods, and angels, but with men.

Till, impotent from our self-conscious fears,

The plaudits of the world turn into sneers.

LIFE

Life, like a romping schoolboy, full of glee,

Doth bear us on his shoulder for a time.

There is no path too steep for him to climb.

With strong, lithe limbs, as agile and as free,

As some young roe, he speeds by vale and sea,

By flowery mead, by mountain peak sublime,

And all the world seems motion set to rhyme,

Till, tired out, he cries, "Now carry me!"

In vain we murmur; "Come," Life says, "Fair play!"

And seizes on us. God! he goads us so!

He does not let us sit down all the day.

At each new step we feel the burden grow,

Till our bent backs seem breaking as we go,

Watching for Death to meet us on the way.

THE STORY

They met each other in the glade--

She lifted up her eyes;

Alack the day! Alack the maid!

She blushed in swift surprise.

Alas! alas! the woe that comes from lifting up the eyes.

The pail was full, the path was steep--

He reached to her his hand;

She felt her warm young pulses leap,

But did not understand.

Alas! alas! the woe that comes from clasping hand with hand.

She sat beside him in the wood--

He wooed with words and sighs;

Ah! love in Spring seems sweet and good,

And maidens are not wise.

Alas! alas! the woe that comes from listing lovers sighs.

The summer sun shone fairly down,

The wind blew from the south;

As blue eyes gazed in eyes of brown,

His kiss fell on her mouth.

Alas! alas! the woe that comes from kisses on the mouth.

And now the autumn time is near,

The lover roves away,

With breaking heart and falling tear,

She sits the livelong day.

Alas! alas! for breaking hearts when lovers rove away.

LET THEM GO

Let the dream go. Are there not other dreams

In vastness of clouds hid from thy sight

That yet shall gild with beautiful gold gleams,

And shoot the shadows through and through with light?

What matters one lost vision of the night?

Let the dream go!!

Let the hope set. Are there not other hopes

That yet shall rise like new stars in thy sky?

Not long a soul in sullen darkness gropes

Before some light is lent it from on high;

What folly to think happiness gone by!

Let the hope set!

Let the joy fade. Are there not other joys,

Like frost-bound bulbs, that yet shall start and bloom?

Severe must be the winter that destroys

The hardy roots locked in their silent tomb.

What cares the earth for her brief time of gloom

Let the joy fade!

Let the love die. Are there not other loves

As beautiful and full of sweet unrest,

Flying through space like snowy-pinioned doves?

They yet shall come and nestle in thy breast,

And thou shalt say of each, "Lo, this is best!"

Let the love die!

THE ENGINE

INTO the gloom of the deep, dark night,

With panting breath and a startled scream;

Swift as a bird in sudden flight,

Darts this creature of steel and steam.

Awful dangers are lurking nigh,

Rocks and chasms are near the track,

But straight by the light of its great white eye,

It speeds through the shadows, dense and black.

Terrible thoughts and fierce desires

Trouble its mad heart many an hour,

Where burn and smoulder the hidden fires,

Coupled ever with might and power.

It hates, as a wild horse hates the rein,

The narrow track by vale and hill:

And shrieks with a cry of startled pain;

And longs to follow its own wild will.

O, what am I but an engine, shod

With muscle and flesh, by the hand of God,

Speeding on through the dense, dark night,

Guided alone by the soul's white light.

Often and often my mad heart tires,

And hates its way with a bitter hate,

And longs to follow its own desires,

And leave the end in the hands of fate.

O mighty engine of steel and steam;

O human engine of blood and bone,

Follow the white light's certain beam--

There lies safety, and there alone.

The narrow track of fearless truth,

Lit by the soul's great eye of light,

O passionate heart of restless youth,

Alone will carry you through the night.

IN THE LONG RUN

In the long run fame finds the deserving man.

The lucky wight may prosper for a day,

But in good time true merit leads the van

And vain pretence, unnoticed, goes its way.

There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate,

But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait,

In the long run.

In the long run all godly sorrow pays,

There is no better thing than righteous pain,

The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days,

Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain.

Unmeaning joys enervate in the end,

But sorrow yields a glorious dividend

In the long run.

In the long run all hidden things are known,

The eye of truth will penetrate the night,

And good or ill, thy secret shall be known,

However well 'tis guarded from the light.

All the unspoken motives of the breast

Are fathomed by the years and stand confess'd

In the long run.

In the long run all love is paid by love,

Though undervalued by the hosts of earth;

The great eternal Government above

Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth.

Give thy love freely; do not count the cost;

So beautiful a thing was never lost

In the long run.

A SONG

IS anyone sad in the world, I wonder?

Does anyone weep on a day like this

With the sun above, and the green earth under?

Why, what is life but a dream of bliss?

With the sun, and the skies, and the bird, above me,

Birds that sing as they wheel and fly--

With the winds to follow and say they love me--

Who could be lonely? O no, not I!

Somebody said, in the street this morning,

As I opened my window to let in the light,

That the darkest day of the world was dawning;

But I looked, and the East was a gorgeous sight.

One who claims that he knows about it

Tells me the Earth is a vale of sin;

But I and the bees and the birds--we doubt it,

And think it a world worth living in.

Some one says that hearts are fickle,

That love is sorrow, that life is care,

And the reaper Death, with his shining sickle,

Gathers whatever is bright and fair.

I told the thrush, and we laughed together,

Laughed till the woods were all a-ring;

And he said to me, as he plumed each feather,

"Well, people must croak, if they cannot sing."

Up he flew, but his song, remaining,

Rang like a bell in my heart all day,

And silenced the voices of weak complaining,

That pipe like insects along the way.

O world of light, and O world of beauty!

Where are there pleasures so sweet as thine?

Yes, life is love, and love is duty;

And what heart sorrows? O no, not mine!

THE TWO GLASSES

There sat two glasses, filled to the brim,

On a rich man's table, rim to rim.

One was ruddy, and red as blood,

And one was as clear as the crystal flood.

Said the glass of wine to his paler brother,

"Let us tell tales of the past to each other;

I can tell of banquet, and revel, and mirth,

Where I was king, for I ruled in might.

And the proudest and grandest souls on earth

Fell under my touch, as though struck with blight.

From the heads of kings, I have torn the crown,

From the heights of fame, I have hurled men down;

I have blasted many an honored name,

I have taken virtue, and given shame;

I have tempted the youth, with a sip, a taste,

That has made his future a barren waste.

Far greater than any king am I,

Or than any army beneath the sky.

I have made the arm of the driver fail,

And sent the train from its iron rail.

I have made good ships go down at sea,

And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me;

For they said, 'Behold, how great you be!

Fame, strength, wealth, genius, before you fall,

And your might and power are over all.'"

"Ho! ho! pale brother," laughed the wine,

"Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?"

Said the water glass, "I cannot boast

Of a king dethroned or a murdered host;

But I can tell of hearts that were sad,

By my crystal drops made light and glad.

Of thirsts I have quenched, and brows I've laved;

Of hands I have cooled, and souls I've saved.

I have leaped through the valley, dashed down the mountain;

Slept in the sunshine, and dripped from the fountain.

I have burst my cloud fetters, and dropped from the sky,

And everywhere gladdened the landscape and eye.

I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain,

I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain;

I can tell of the powerful wheel o' the mill,

That ground out the flour, and turned at my will;

I can tell of manhood, debased by you,

That I have uplifted, and crowned anew.

I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid,

I gladden the heart of man and maid;

I set the chained wine-captive free,

And all are better for knowing me."

These are the tales they told each other,

The glass of wine, and its paler brother,

As they sat together, filled to the brim,

On the rich man's table, rim to rim.

WHAT WE NEED

What does our country need? No armies standing

With sabres gleaming ready for the fight;

Not increased navies, skilful and commanding,

To bound the waters with an iron might;

Not haughty men with glutted purses trying

To purchase souls, and keep the power of place;

Not jewelled dolls with one another vying

For palms of beauty, elegance, and grace.

But we want women, strong of soul, yet lowly,

With that rare meekness, born of gentleness;

Women whose lives are pure and clean and holy,

The women whom all little children bless;

Brave, earnest women, helpful to each other,

With finest scorn for all things low and mean;

Women who hold the names of wife and mother

Far nobler than the title of a queen.

Oh! these are they who mould the men of story,

These mothers, ofttimes shorn of grace and youth,

Who, worn and weary, ask no greater glory

Than making some young soul the home of truth;

Who sow in hearts all fallow for the sowing

The seeds of virtue and of scorn for sin,

And, patient, watch the beauteous harvest growing

And weed out tares which crafty hands cast in;

Women who do not hold the gift of beauty

As some rare treasure to be bought and sold.

But guard it as a precious aid to duty--

The outer framing of the inner gold;

Women who, low above their cradles bending,

Let flattery's voice go by, and give no heed,

While their pure prayers like incense are ascending

THESE are our country's pride, our country's need,

IS IT DONE?

It is done! in the fire's fitful flashes,

The last line has withered and curled.

In a tiny white heap of dead ashes

Lie buried the hopes of your world.

There were mad foolish vows in each letter,

It is well they have shrivelled and burned,

And the ring! oh, the ring was a fetter,

It was better removed and returned.

But ah, is it done? In the embers

Where letters and tokens were cast,

Have you burned up the heart that remembers,

And treasures its beautiful past?

Do you think in this swift reckless fashion

To ruthlessly burn and destroy

The months that were freighted with passion,

The dreams that were drunken with joy?

Can you burn up the rapture of kisses

That flashed from the lips to the soul,

Or the heart that grows sick for lost blisses

In spite of its strength of control?

Have you burned up the touch of warm fingers

That thrilled through each pulse and each vein,

Or the sound of a voice that still lingers

And hurts with a haunting refrain?

Is it done? is the life drama ended?

You have put all the lights out, and yet,

Though the curtain, rung down, has descended,

Can the actors go home and forget?

Ah, no! they will turn in their sleeping

With a strange restless pain in their hearts,

And in darkness, and anguish, and weeping,

Will dream they are playing their parts.

BURDENED

"Genius, a man's weapon, a woman's burden."--Lamartine.

Dear God! there is no sadder fate in life

Than to be burdened so that you can not

Sit down contented with the common lot

Of happy mother and devoted wife.

To feel your brain wild and your bosom rife

With all the sea's commotion; to be fraught

With fires and frenzies which you have not sought,

And weighed down with the wild world's weary strife;

To feel a fever always in your breast;

To lean and hear, half in affright, half shame,

A loud-voiced public boldly mouth your name;

To reap your hard-sown harvest in unrest,

And know, however great your meed of fame,

You are but a weak woman at the best.

TO MARRY OR NOT TO MARRY?

A GIRL'S REVERIE

Mother says, "Be in no hurry,

Marriage oft means care and worry."

Auntie says, with manner grave,

"Wife is synonym for slave."

Father asks, in tones commanding,

"How does Bradstreet rate his standing?"

Sister crooning to her twins,

Sighs, "With marriage care begins."

Grandma, near life's closing days,

Murmurs, "Sweet are girlhood's ways."

Maud, twice widowed ("sod and grass")

Looks at me and moans "Alas!"

They are six, and I am one,

Life for me has just begun.

They are older, calmer, wiser:

Age should aye be youth's adviser.

They must know--and yet, dear me,

When in Harry's eyes I see

All the world of love there burning--

On my six advisers turning,

I make answer, "Oh, but Harry

Is not like most men who marry.

"Fate has offered me a prize,

Life with love means Paradise.

"Life without it is not worth

All the foolish joys of earth."

So, in spite of all they say,

I shall name the wedding day.

A MARCH SNOW

Let the old snow be covered with the new:

The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden.

Let it be hidden wholly from our view

By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden.

When Winter dies, low at the sweet Spring's feet,

Let him be mantled in a clean, white sheet.

Let the old life be covered by the new:

The old past life so full of sad mistakes,

Let it be wholly hidden from the view

By deeds as white and silent as snow-flakes.

Ere this earth life melts in the eternal Spring

Let the white mantle of repentance fling

Soft drapery about it, fold on fold,

Even as the new snow covers up the old.

COMRADES

I and my Soul are alone to-day,

All in the shining weather;

We were sick of the world, and put it away,

So we could rejoice together.

Our host, the Sun, in the blue, blue sky

Is mixing a rare, sweet wine,

In the burnished gold of this cup on high,

For me, and this Soul of mine.

We find it a safe and royal drink,

And a cure for every pain;

It helps us to love, and helps us to think,

And strengthens body and brain.

And sitting here, with my Soul alone,

Where the yellow sun-rays fall,

Of all the friends I have ever known

I find it the BEST of all.

We rarely meet when the world is near,

For the World hath a pleasing art

And brings me so much that is bright and dear

That my Soul it keepeth apart.

But when I grow weary of mirth and glee,

Of glitter, glow, and splendour,

Like a tried old friend it comes to me,

With a smile that is sad and tender.

And we walk together as two friends may,

And laugh and drink God's wine.

Oh, a royal comrade any day

I find this Soul of mine.

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 _bons 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 honour,

The 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.

INTO SPACE

If the sad old world should jump a cog

Sometime, in its dizzy spinning,

And go off the track with a sudden jog,

What an end would come to the sinning,

What a rest from strife and the burdens of life

For the millions of people in it,

What a way out of care, and worry and wear,

All in a beautiful minute.

As 'round the sun with a curving sweep

It hurries and runs and races,

Should it lose its balance, and go with a leap

Into the vast sea-spaces,

What a blest relief it would bring to the grief,

And the trouble and toil about us,

To be suddenly hurled from the solar world

And let it go on without us.

With not a sigh or a sad good-bye

For loved ones left behind us,

We would go with a lunge and a mighty plunge

Where never a grave should find us.

What a wild mad thrill our veins would fill

As the great earth, like a feather,

Should float through the air to God knows where,

And carry us all together.

No dark, damp tomb and no mourner's gloom,

No tolling bell in the steeple,

But in one swift breath a painless death

For a million billion people.

What greater bliss could we ask than this,

To sweep with a bird's free motion

Through leagues of space to a resting place,

In a vast and vapoury ocean--

To pass away from this life for aye

With never a dear tie sundered,

And a world on fire for a funeral pyre,

While the stars looked on and wondered?

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 buttercups 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!

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

I hold it the duty of one who is gifted

And specially dowered in all men's sight,

To know no rest till his life is lifted

Fully up to his great gifts' height.

He must mould the man into rare completeness,

For gems are set only in gold refined.

He must fashion his thoughts into perfect sweetness.

And cast out folly and pride from his mind.

For he who drinks from a god's gold fountain

Of art or music or rhythmic song

Must sift from his soul the chaff of malice,

And weed from his heart the roots of wrong.

Great gifts should be worn, like a crown befitting,

And not like gems in a beggar's hands!

And the toil must be constant and unremitting

Which lifts up the king to the crown's demands.

THE YEAR

What can be said in New Year rhymes,

That's not been said a thousand times?

The new years come, the old years go,

We know we dream, we dream we know.

We rise up laughing with the light,

We lie down weeping with the night.

We hug the world until it stings,

We curse it then and sigh for wings.

We live, we love, we woo, we wed,

We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead.

We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear,

And that's the burden of the year.

THROUGH DIM EYES

Is it the world, or my eyes, that are sadder?

I see not the grace that I used to see

In the meadow-brook whose song was so glad, or

In the boughs of the willow tree.

The brook runs slower--its song seems lower

And not the song that it sang of old;

And the tree I admired looks weary and tired

Of the changeless story of heat and cold.

When the sun goes up, and the stars go under,

In that supreme hour of the breaking day,

Is it my eyes, or the dawn, I wonder,

That finds less of the gold, and more of the gray

I see not the splendour, the tints so tender,

The rose-hued glory I used to see;

And I often borrow a vague half-sorrow

That another morning has dawned for me.

When the royal smile of that welcome comer

Beams on the meadow and burns in the sky,

Is it my eyes, or does the Summer

Bring less of bloom than in days gone by?

The beauty that thrilled me, the rapture that filled me,

To an overflowing of happy tears,

I pass unseeing, my sad eyes being

Dimmed by the shadow of vanished years.

When the heart grows weary, all things seem dreary;

When the burden grows heavy, the way seems long.

Thank God for sending kind death as an ending,

Like a grand Amen to a minor song.

TRUE CULTURE

The highest culture is to speak no ill,

The best reformer is the man whose eyes

Are quick to see all beauty and all worth;

And by his own discreet, well-ordered life,

Alone reproves the erring.

When thy gaze

Turns in on thine own soul, be most severe.

But when it falls upon a fellow-man

Let kindliness control it; and refrain

From that belittling censure that springs forth

From common lips like weeds from marshy soil.

WHAT GAIN?

Now, while thy rounded cheek is fresh and fair,

While beauty lingers, laughing, in thine eyes,

Ere thy young heart shall meet the stranger, "Care,"

Or thy blithe soul become the home of sighs,

Were it not kindness should I give thee rest

By plunging this sharp dagger in thy breast?

Dying so young, with all thy wealth of youth,

What part of life wouldst thou not claim, in sooth?

Only the woe,

Sweetheart, that sad souls know.

Now, in this sacred hour of supreme trust,

Of pure delight and palpitating joy,

Ere change can come, as come it surely must,

With jarring doubts and discords, to destroy

Our far too perfect peace, I pray thee, Sweet,

Were it not best for both of us, and meet,

If I should bring swift death to seal our bliss?

Dying so full of joy, what could we miss?

Nothing but tears,

Sweetheart, and weary years.

How slight the action! Just one well-aimed blow

Here, where I feel thy warm heart's pulsing beat,

And then another through my own, and so

Our perfect union would be made complete:

So, past all parting, I should claim thee mine.

Dead with our youth, and faith, and love divine,

Should we not keep the best of life that way?

What shall we gain by living day on day?

What shall we gain,

Sweetheart, but bitter pain?

THE CHRISTIAN'S NEW YEAR PRAYER

Thou Christ of mine, Thy gracious ear low bending

Through these glad New Year days,

To catch the countless prayers to heaven ascending--

For e'en hard hearts do raise

Some secret wish for fame, or gold, or power,

Or freedom from all care--

Dear, patient Christ, who listeneth hour on hour,

Hear now a Christian's prayer.

Let this young year that, silent, walks beside me,

Be as a means of grace

To lead me up, no matter what betide me,

Nearer the Master's face.

If it need be that ere I reach the Fountain

Where living waters play,

My feet should bleed from sharp stones on the mountain,

Then cast them in my way.

If my vain soul needs blows and bitter losses

To shape it for Thy crown,

Then bruise it, burn it, burden it with crosses,

With sorrows bear it down.

Do what Thou wilt to mould me to Thy pleasure,

And if I should complain,

Heap full of anguish yet another measure

Until I smile at pain.

Send dangers--deaths! but tell me how to dare them;

Enfold me in Thy care.

Send trials, tears! but give me strength to bear them--

This is a Christian's prayer.

AND THEY ARE DUMB

I have been across the bridges of the years.

Wet with tears

Were the ties on which I trod, going back

Down the track

To the valley where I left, 'neath skies of Truth,

My lost youth.

As I went, I dropped my burdens, one and all--

Let them fall;

All my sorrows, all my wrinkles, all my care,

My white hair,

I laid down, like some lone pilgrim's heavy pack,

By the track.

As I neared the happy valley with light feet,

My heart beat

To the rhythm of a song I used to know

Long ago,

And my spirits gushed and bubbled like a fountain

Down a mountain.

On the border of that valley I found you,

Tried and true;

And we wandered through the golden Summer-Land

Hand in hand.

And my pulses beat with rapture in the blisses

Of your kisses.

And we met there, in those green and verdant places,

Smiling faces,

And sweet laughter echoed upward from the dells

Like gold bells.

And the world was spilling over with the glory

Of Youth's story.

It was but a dreamer's journey of the brain;

And again

I have left the happy valley far behind;

And I find

Time stands waiting with his burdens in a pack

For my back.

As he speeds me, like a rough, well-meaning friend,

To the end,

Will I find again the lost ones loved so well?

Who can tell!

But the dead know what the life will be to come--

And they are dumb!

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF LIFE ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

- • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

- • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.

- • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.

- • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

Table of Contents

POEMS

LIFE

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Author of POEMS OF PLEASURE; POEMS OF PASSION POEMS OF REFLECTION; POEMS OF LOVE OUT OF THE DEPTHS

CONTENTS

POEMS OF LIFE

LIFE

A SONG OF LIFE

CONVERSION

LIFE AND I

LIMITLESS

TWO SUNSETS

UNREST

"ARTIST'S LIFE"

NOTHING BUT STONES

SECRETS

USELESSNESS

WILL

WINTER RAIN

INEVITABLE

THE OCEAN OF SONG

GETHSEMANE

DUST-SEALED

"ADVICE"

OVER THE BANISTERS

MOMUS, GOD OF LAUGHTER

THE FAREWELL

THE PAST

"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN"

THE SONNET

NOTHING NEW

HELENA

NOTHING REMAINS

FINIS

APPLAUSE

LIFE

THE STORY

LET THEM GO

THE ENGINE

IN THE LONG RUN

A SONG

THE TWO GLASSES

WHAT WE NEED

IS IT DONE?

BURDENED

TO MARRY OR NOT TO MARRY?

A MARCH SNOW

COMRADES

IN THE CROWD

INTO SPACE

SNOWED UNDER

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

THE YEAR

THROUGH DIM EYES

TRUE CULTURE

WHAT GAIN?

THE CHRISTIAN'S NEW YEAR PRAYER

AND THEY ARE DUMB

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE