Part 18 (1/2)

My little April lady, Of suns.h.i.+ne and of showers She weaves the old spring magic, And my heart breaks in flowers!

But when her moods are ended, She nestles like a dove; Then, by the pain and rapture, I know her name is Love.

A LOVER'S ENVY

I envy every flower that blows Along the meadow where she goes, And every bird that sings to her, And every breeze that brings to her The fragrance of the rose.

I envy every poet's rhyme That moves her heart at eventime, And every tree that wears for her Its brightest bloom, and bears for her The fruitage of its prime.

I envy every Southern night That paves her path with moonbeams white, And silvers all the leaves for her, And in their shadow weaves for her A dream of dear delight.

I envy none whose love requires Of her a gift, a task that tires: I only long to live to her, I only ask to give to her, All that her heart desires.

FIRE-FLY CITY

Like a long arrow through the dark the train is darting, Bearing me far away, after a perfect day of love's delight: Wakeful with all the sad-sweet memories of parting, I lift the narrow window-shade and look out on the night.

Lonely the land unknown, and like a river flowing, Forest and field and hill are gliding backward still athwart my dream; Till in that country strange, and ever stranger growing, A magic city full of lights begins to glow and gleam.

Wide through the landscape dim the lamps are lit in millions; Long avenues unfold clear-s.h.i.+ning lines of gold across the green; Cl.u.s.ters and rings of light, and luminous pavilions,-- Oh, who will tell the city's name, and what these wonders mean?

Why do they beckon me, and what have they to show me?

Crowds in the blazing street, mirth where the feasters meet, kisses and wine: Many to laugh with me, but never one to know me: A cityful of stranger-hearts and none to beat with mine!

Look how the glittering lines are wavering and lifting,-- Softly the breeze of night scatters the vision bright: and, pa.s.sing fair, Over the meadow-gra.s.s and through the forest drifting, The Fire-Fly City of the Dark is lost in empty air!

THE GENTLE TRAVELLER

”Through many a land your journey ran, And showed the best the world can boast: Now tell me, traveller, if you can, The place that pleased you most.”

She laid her hands upon my breast, And murmured gently in my ear, ”The place I loved and liked the best Was in your arms, my dear!”

NEPENTHE

Yes, it was like you to forget, And cancel in the welcome of your smile My deep arrears of debt, And with the putting forth of both your hands To sweep away the bars my folly set Between us--bitter thoughts, and harsh demands, And reckless deeds that seemed untrue To love, when all the while My heart was aching through and through For you, sweet heart, and only you.

Yet, as I turned to come to you again, I thought there must be many a mile Of sorrowful reproach to cross, And many an hour of mutual pain To bear, until I could make plain That all my pride was but the fear of loss, And all my doubt the shadow of despair To win a heart so innocent and fair; And even that which looked most ill Was but the fever-fret and effort vain To dull the thirst which you alone could still.

But as I turned, the desert miles were crossed, And when I came, the weary hours were sped!

For there you stood beside the open door, Glad, gracious, smiling as before, And with bright eyes and tender hands outspread Restored me to the Eden I had lost.