Volume Ii Part 150 (2/2)

But the branches now are bare And the lad you knew, Long ago was buried there-- Long ago, with you!

Thomas S. Jones, Jr. [1882-1932]

THE INVISIBLE BRIDE

The low-voiced girls that go In gardens of the Lord, Like flowers of the field they grow In sisterly accord.

Their whispering feet are white Along the leafy ways; They go in whirls of light Too beautiful for praise.

And in their band forsooth Is one to set me free-- The one that touched my youth-- The one G.o.d gave to me.

She kindles the desire Whereby the G.o.ds survive-- The white ideal fire That keeps my soul alive.

Now at the wondrous hour, She leaves her star supreme, And comes in the night's still power, To touch me with a dream.

Sibyl of mystery On roads beyond our ken, Softly she comes to me, And goes to G.o.d again.

Edwin Markham [1852-

RAIN ON A GRAVE

Clouds spout upon her Their waters amain In ruthless disdain,-- Her who but lately Had s.h.i.+vered with pain As at touch of dishonor If there had lit on her So coldly, so straightly Such arrows of rain.

She who to shelter Her delicate head Would quicken and quicken Each tentative tread If drops chanced to pelt her That summertime spills In dust-paven rills When thunder-clouds thicken And birds close their bills.

Would that I lay there And she were housed here!

Or better, together Were folded away there Exposed to one weather We both,--who would stray there When sunny the day there, Or evening was clear At the prime of the year.

Soon will be growing Green blades from her mound, And daisies be showing Like stars on the ground, Till she form part of them-- Ay--the sweet heart of them, Loved beyond measure With a child's pleasure All her life's round.

Thomas Hardy [1840-1928]

PATTERNS

I walk down the garden paths, And all the daffodils Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.

I walk down the patterned garden-paths In my stiff, brocaded gown.

With my powdered hair and jewelled fan, I too am a rare Pattern. As I wander down The garden paths.

<script>