Maurine and Other Poems Part 21

Come, fold me closer to thy pulsing heart.

The day is full of gladness, and the light So beautifies the common outer things, I only see with my external sight, And only hear the great world's voice which rings But silently from daylight and from din The sweet Night draws me--whispers, "Look within!"

And looking, as one wakened from a dream, I see what _is_--no longer what doth seem.

The Night says, "Listen!" and upon my ear Revealed, as are the visions to my sight, The voices known as "Beautiful" come near And whisper of the vastly Infinite.

Great, blue-eyed Truth, her sister Purity, Their brother Honor, all converse with me, And kiss my brow, and say, "Be brave of heart!"

O holy three! how beautiful thou art!

The Night says, "Child, sleep that thou may'st arise Strong for to-morrow's struggle." And I feel Her shadowy fingers pressing on my eyes: Like thistledown I float to the Ideal-- The Slumberland, made beautiful and bright As death, by dreams of loved ones gone from sight, O food for soul's, sweet dreams of pure delight, How beautiful the holy hours of Night!

ALL FOR ME.

The world grows green on a thousand hills-- By a thousand willows the bees are humming, And a million birds by a million rills, Sing of the golden season coming.

But, gazing out on the sun-kist lea, And hearing a thrush and a blue-bird singing, I feel that the Summer is all for me, And all for me are the joys it is bringing.

All for me the b.u.mble-bee Drones his song in the perfect weather; And, just on purpose to sing to me, Thrush and blue-bird came North together.

Just for me, in red and white, Bloom and blossom the fields of clover; And all for me and my delight The wild Wind follows and plays the lover.

The mighty sun, with a scorching kiss (I have read, and heard, and do not doubt it) Has burned up a thousand worlds like this, And never stopped to think about it.

And yet I believe he hurries up Just on purpose to kiss my flowers-- To drink the dew from the lily-cup, And help it to grow through golden hours.

I know I am only a speck of dust, An individual mite of ma.s.ses, Clinging upon the outer crust Of a little ball of cooling gases.

And yet, and yet, say what you will, And laugh, if you please, at my lack of reason, For me wholly, and for me still, Blooms and blossoms the Summer season.

n.o.body else has ever heard The story the Wind to me discloses; And none but I and the humming-bird Can read the hearts of the crimson roses.

Ah, my Summer--my love--my own!

The world grows glad in your smiling weather; Yet all for me, and me alone, You and your Court came north together.

PHILOSOPHY.

At morn the wise man walked abroad, Proud with the learning of great fools.

He laughed and said, "There is no G.o.d-- 'Tis force creates, 'tis reason rules."

Meek with the wisdom of great faith, At night he knelt while angels smiled, And wept and cried with anguished breath, "Jehovah, _G.o.d_, save thou my child."

"CARLOS."

Last night I knelt low at my lady's feet.

One soft, caressing hand played with my hair, And one I kissed and fondled. Kneeling there, I deemed my meed of happiness complete.

She was so fair, so full of witching wiles-- Of fascinating tricks of mouth and eye; So womanly withal, but not too shy-- And all my heaven was compa.s.sed by her smiles.

Her soft touch on my cheek and forehead sent, Like little arrows, thrills of tenderness Through all my frame. I trembled with excess Of love, and sighed the sigh of great content.

When any mortal dares to so rejoice, I think a jealous Heaven, bending low, Reaches a stern hand forth and deals a blow.

Sweet through the dusk I heard my lady's voice.

"My love!" she sighed, "My Carlos!" even now I feel the perfumed zephyr of her breath Bearing to me those words of living death, And starting out the cold drops on my brow.

For I am _Paul_--not Carlos! Who is he That, in the supreme hour of love's delight, Veiled by the shadows of the falling night, She should breathe low his name, forgetting me?

I will not ask her! 'twere a fruitless task, For, woman-like, she would make me believe Some well-told tale; and sigh, and seem to grieve, And call me cruel. Nay, I will not ask.

But this man Carlos, whosoe'er he be, Has turned my cup of nectar into gall, Since I know he has claimed some one or all Of these delights my lady grants to me.

He must have knelt and kissed her, in some sad And tender twilight, when the day grew dim.

How else could I remind her so of him?

Why, reveries like these have made men mad!

He must have felt her soft hand on his brow.

If Heaven was shocked at such presumptuous wrongs, And plunged him in the grave, where he belongs, _Still she remembers_, though she loves me now.

And if he lives, and meets me to his cost, Why, what avails it? I must hear and see That curst name "Carlos" always haunting me-- So has another Paradise been lost.

THE TWO GLa.s.sES.

There sat two gla.s.ses filled to the brim, On a rich man's table, rim to rim.

One was ruddy and red as blood, And one was clear as the crystal flood.

Said the gla.s.s of wine to his paler brother, "Let us tell tales of the past to each other; I can tell of a banquet, and revel, and mirth, Where I was king, for I ruled in might; For 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 the iron rail.

I have made good s.h.i.+ps go down at sea, And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me.

Fame, strength, wealth, genius before me fall; And my might and power are over all!

Ho, ho! pale brother," said the wine, "Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?"

Said the water-gla.s.s: "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 bright and glad; Of thirsts I have quenched, and brows I have laved; Of hands I have cooled, and souls I have saved.

I have leaped through the valley, dashed down the mountain, Slept in the suns.h.i.+ne, and dripped from the fountain.

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

And everywhere gladdened the prospect 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 of 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 wine-chained captive free, And all are better for knowing me."

These are the tales they told each other, The gla.s.s of wine and its paler brother, As they sat together, filled to the brim, On a rich man's table, rim to rim.