The Home Book of Verse Volume Ii Part 115

The blossoms drifted at our feet, The orchard birds sang clear; The sweetest and the saddest day It seemed of all the year.

For, more to me than birds or flowers, My playmate left her home, And took with her the laughing spring, The music and the bloom.

She kissed the lips of kith and kin, She laid her hand in mine: What more could ask the bashful boy Who fed her father's kine?

She left us in the bloom of May: The constant years told o'er Their seasons with as sweet May morns, But she came back no more.

I walk, with noiseless feet, the round Of uneventful years; Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring And reap the autumn ears.

She lives where all the golden year Her summer roses blow; The dusky children of the sun Before her come and go.

There haply with her jeweled hands She smooths her silken gown,-- No more the homespun lap wherein I shook the walnuts down.

The wild grapes wait us by the brook, The brown nuts on the hill, And still the May-day flowers make sweet The woods of Follymill.

The lilies blossom in the pond, The bird builds in the tree, The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill The slow song of the sea.

I wonder if she thinks of them, And how the old time seems,-- If ever the pines of Ramoth wood Are sounding in her dreams.

I see her face, I hear her voice: Does she remember mine?

And what to her is now the boy Who fed her father's kine?

What cares she that the orioles build For other eyes than ours,-- That other laps with nuts are filled, And other hands with flowers?

O playmate in the golden time!

Our mossy seat is green, Its fringing violets blossom yet, The old trees o'er it lean.

The winds so sweet with birch and fern A sweeter memory blow; And there in spring the veeries sing The song of long ago.

And still the pines of Ramoth wood Are moaning like the sea,-- The moaning of the sea of change Between myself and thee!

John Greenleaf Whittier [1807-1892]

A FAREWELL

With all my will, but much against my heart, We two now part.

My Very Dear, Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear.

It needs no art, With faint, averted feet And many a tear, In our opposed paths to persevere.

Go thou to East, I West.

We will not say There's any hope, it is so far away.

But, O, my Best, When the one darling of our widowhead, The nursling Grief Is dead, And no dews blur our eyes To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies, Perchance we may, Where now this night is day, And even through faith of still averted feet, Making full circle of our banishment, Amazed meet; The bitter journey to the bourne so sweet Seasoning the termless feast of our content With tears of recognition never dry.

Coventry Patmore [1823-1896]

DEPARTURE

It was not like your great and gracious ways!

Do you, that have naught other to lament, Never, my Love, repent Of how, that July afternoon, You went, With sudden, unintelligible phrase, And frightened eye, Upon your journey of so many days Without a single kiss, or a good-bye?

I knew, indeed, that you were parting soon; And so we sate, within the low sun's rays, You whispering to me, for your voice was weak, Your harrowing praise.

Well, it was well To hear you such things speak, And I could tell What made your eyes a glowing gloom of love, As a warm South-wind sombers a March grove.

And it was like your great and gracious ways To turn your talk on daily things, my Dear, Lifting the luminous, pathetic lash To let the laughter flash, Whilst I drew near, Because you spoke so low that I could scarcely hear.

But all at once to leave me at the last, More at the wonder than the loss aghast, With huddled, unintelligible phrase, And frightened eye, And go your journey of all days With not one kiss, or a good-bye, And the only loveless look the look with which you pa.s.sed: 'Twas all unlike your great and gracious ways.

Coventry Patmore [1823-1896]

A SONG OF PARTING

My dear, the time has come to say Farewell to London town, Farewell to each familiar street, The room where we looked down Upon the people going by, The river flowing fast: The innumerable s.h.i.+ne of lamps, The bridges and--our past.

Our past of London days and nights, When every night we dreamed Of Love and Art and Happiness, And every day it seemed Ah! little room, you held my life, In you I found my all; A white hand on the mantelpiece, A shadow on the wall.

My dear, what dinners we have had, What cigarettes and wine In faded corners of Soho, Your fingers touching mine!

And now the time has come to say Farewell to London town; The prologue of our play is done, So ring the curtain down.

There lies a crowded life ahead In field and sleepy lane, A fairer picture than we saw Framed in our window-pane.

There'll be the stars on summer nights, The white moon through the trees, Moths, and the song of nightingales To float along the breeze.

And in the morning we shall see The swallows in the sun, And hear the cuckoo on the hill Welcome a day begun.

And life will open with the rose For me, sweet, and for you, And on our life and on the rose How soft the falling dew!

So let us take this tranquil path, But drop a parting tear For town, whose greatest gift to us Was to be lovers here.

H. C. Compton Mackenzie [1833-

SONG From "The Earthly Paradise"

Fair is the night, and fair the day, Now April is forgot of May, Now into June May falls away: Fair day! fair night! O give me back The tide that all fair things did lack Except my Love, except my Sweet!

Blow back, O wind! thou art not kind, Though thou art sweet: thou hast no mind Her hair about my Sweet to bind.

O flowery sward! though thou art bright, I praise thee not for thy delight,-- Thou hast not kissed her silver feet.

Thou know'st her not, O rustling tree!

What dost thou then to shadow me, Whose shade her breast did never see?

O flowers! in vain ye bow adown: Ye have not felt her odorous gown Brush past your heads my lips to meet.

Flow on, great river! thou mayst deem That far away, a summer stream, Thou saw'st her limbs amidst the gleam, And kissed her foot, and kissed her knee: Yet get thee swift unto the sea!