The Home Book of Verse Volume Ii Part 47

THE LAST WORD

When I have folded up this tent And laid the soiled thing by, I shall go forth 'neath different stars, Under an unknown sky.

And yet whatever house I find Beneath the gra.s.s or snow Will ne'er be tenantless of love Or lack the face I know.

O lips--wild roses wet with rain!

Blown hair of drifted brown!

O pa.s.sionate eyes! O panting heart-- When in that colder town

I lie, the one inhabitant, My hands across my breast, How warm through all eternity The summer of my rest!

To each frail root beneath the ground That thrusts its flower above, I shall impart a fiercer sap-- I who have known your love!

And growing things will lean to me To learn what love hath won, Till I shall whisper to the dust That secret of the Sun.

Yea, though my spirit never wake To hear the voice I knew, Even an endless sleep would be Stirred by the dreams of You!

Frederic Lawrence Knowles [1869-1905]

"HEART OF MY HEART"

Heart of my heart, my life, my light!

If you were lost what should I do?

I dare not let you from my sight Lest Death should fall in love with you.

Such countless terrors lie in wait!

The G.o.ds know well how dear you are!

What if they left me desolate And plucked and set you for their star!

Then hold me close, the G.o.ds are strong, And perfect joy so rare a flower No man may hope to keep it long-- And I may lose you any hour.

Then kiss me close, my star, my flower!

So shall the future grant me this: That there was not a single hour We might have kissed, and did not kiss!

Unknown

MY LADDIE

Oh, my laddie, my laddie, I lo'e your very plaidie, I lo'e your very bonnet Wi' the silver buckle on it, I lo'e your collie Harry, I lo'e the kent ye carry; But oh! it's past my power to tell How much, how much I lo'e yoursel!

Oh, my dearie, my dearie, I could luik an' never weary At your een sae blue an' iaughin', That a heart o' stane wad saften, While your mouth sae proud an' curly Gars my heart gang tirlie-wirlie; But oh! yoursel, your very sel, I lo'e ten thousand times as well!

Oh! my darlin', my darlin', Let's flit whaur flits the starlin', Let's loll upo' the heather A' this bonny, bonny weather; Ye shall fauld me in your plaidie, My luve, my luve, my laddie; An' close, an' close into your ear I'll tell ye how I lo'e ye, dear.

Amelie Rives [1863-

THE SHADED POOL

A laughing knot of village maids Goes gaily tripping to the brook, For water-nymphs they mean to be, And seek some still, secluded nook.

Here Laura goes, my own delight, And Colin's love, the madcap Jane, And half a score of G.o.ddesses Trip over daisies in the plain: Already now they loose their hair And peep from out the tangled gold, Or speed the flying foot to reach The brook that's only summer-cold; The lovely locks stream out behind The shepherdesses on the wing, And Laura's is the wealth I love, And Laura's is the gold I sing.

A-row upon the bank they pant, And all unlace the country shoe; Their fingers tug the garter-knots To loose the hose of varied hue.

The flas.h.i.+ng knee at last appears, The lower curves of youth and grace, Whereat the girls intently scan The mazy thickets of the place.

But who's to see except the thrush Upon the wild crab-apple tree?

Within his branchy haunt he sits-- A very Peeping Tom is he!

Now music bubbles in his throat, And now he pipes the scene in song-- The virgins slipping from their robes, The cheated stockings lean and long, The swift-descending petticoat, The b.r.e.a.s.t.s that heave because they ran, The rounded arms, the brilliant limbs, The pretty necklaces of tan.

Did ever amorous G.o.d in Greece, In search of some young mouth to kiss, By any river chance upon A sylvan scene as bright as this?

But though each maid is pure and fair, For one alone my heart I bring, And Laura's is the shape I love, And Laura's is the snow I sing.

And now upon the brook's green brink, A milk-white bevy, lo, they stand, Half shy, half frightened, reaching back The beauty of a poising hand!

How musical their little screams When ripples kiss their shrinking feet!

And then the brook embraces all Till gold and white and water meet!

Within the streamlet's soft cool arms Delight and love and gracefulness Sport till a flock of tiny waves Swamps all the beds of floating cress; And on his s.h.i.+ning face are seen Great yellow lilies drifting down Beyond the ringing apple-tree, Beyond the empty homespun gown.

Did ever Orpheus with his lute, When making melody of old, E'er find a stream in Attica So ripely full of pink and gold?

At last they climb the sloping bank And shake upon the thirsty soil A treasury of diamond-drops Not gained by aught of grimy toil.

Again the garters clasp the hose, Again the velvet knee is hid, Again the breathless babble tells What Colin said, what Colin did.

In grace upon the gra.s.s they lie And spread their tresses to the sun, And rival, musical as they, The blackbird's alto shake and run.

Did ever Love, on hunting bent, Come idly humming through the hay, And, to his sudden joyfulness, Find fairer game at close of day?

Though every maid's a lily-rose, And meet to sway a sceptred king, Yet Laura's is the face I love, And Laura's are the lips I sing.

Norman Gale [1862-

GOOD-NIGHT

Good-night. Good-night. Ah, good the night That wraps thee in its silver light.

Good-night. No night is good for me That does not hold a thought of thee.

Good-night.

Good-night. Be every night as sweet As that which made our love complete, Till that last night when death shall be One brief "Good-night," for thee and me.

Good-night.

S. Weir Mitch.e.l.l [1829-1914]

THE MYSTIC

By seven vineyards on one hill We walked. The native wine In cl.u.s.ters grew beside us two, For your lips and for mine,