Poems of Passion Part 13

Just drop down the curtains of your dear eyes Those eyes like a bright bluebell, And we will sail out under starlit skies, To the land where the fairies dwell.

Down the river of sleep our barque shall sweep, Till it reaches that mystical Isle Which no man hath seen, but where all have been, And there we will pause awhile.

I will croon you a song as we float along To that sh.o.r.e that is blessed of G.o.d, Then, ho! for that fair land, we're off for that rare land, That beautiful Land of Nod.

[Ill.u.s.tration:]

THE TIGER.

In the still jungle of the senses lay A tiger soundly sleeping, till one day A bold young hunter chanced to come that way.

"How calm," he said, "that splendid creature lies!

I long to rouse him into swift surprise."

The well aimed arrow shot from amorous eyes,

And lo! the tiger rouses up and turns, A coal of fire his glowing eyeball burns, His mighty frame with savage hunger yearns.

He crouches for a spring; his eyes dilate-- Alas! bold hunter, what shall be thy fate?

Thou canst not fly; it is too late, too late.

Once having tasted human flesh, ah! then, Woe, woe unto the whole rash world of men.

The wakened tiger will not sleep again.

ONLY A SIMPLE RHYME.

Only a simple rhyme of love and sorrow, Where "blisses" rhymed with "kisses," "heart," with "dart:"

Yet, reading it, new strength I seemed to borrow, To live on bravely and to do my part.

A little rhyme about a heart that's bleeding-- Of lonely hours and sorrow's unrelief: I smiled at first; but there came with the reading A sense of sweet companions.h.i.+p in grief.

The selfishness of my own woe forsaking, I thought about the singer of that song.

Some other breast felt this same weary aching; Another found the summer days too long.

The few sad lines, my sorrow so expressing, I read, and on the singer, all unknown, I breathed a fervent though a silent blessing, And seemed to clasp his hand within my own.

And though fame pa.s.s him and he never know it, And though he never sings another strain, He has performed the mission of the poet, In helping some sad heart to bear its pain.

[Ill.u.s.tration:]

I WILL BE WORTHY OF IT.

I may not reach the heights I seek, My untried strength may fail me, Or, half-way up the mountain peak, Fierce tempests may a.s.sail me.

But though that place I never gain, Herein lies comfort for my pain-- I will be worthy of it.

I may not triumph in success, Despite my earnest labor; I may not grasp results that bless The efforts of my neighbor; But though my goal I never see, This thought shall always dwell with me-- I will be worthy of it.

The golden glory of Love's light May never fall on my way; My path may always lead through night, Like some deserted by-way; But though life's dearest joy I miss There lies a nameless strength in this-- I will be worthy of it.

SONNET.

Methinks ofttimes my heart is like some bee That goes forth through the summer day and sings.

And gathers honey from all growing things In garden plot or on the clover lea.

When the long afternoon grows late, and she Would seek her hive, she cannot lift her wings.

So heavily the too sweet bin den clings, From which she would not, and yet would, fly free.

So with my full, fond heart; for when it tries To lift itself to peace crowned heights, above The common way where countless feet have trod, Lo! then, this burden of dear human ties, This growing weight of precious earthly love, Binds down the spirit that would soar to G.o.d.

REGRET.

There is a haunting phantom called Regret, A shadowy creature robed somewhat like Woe, But fairer in the face, whom all men know By her sad mien and eyes forever wet.

No heart would seek her; but once having met, All take her by the hand, and to and fro They wander through those paths of long ago-- Those hallowed ways 'twere wiser to forget.

One day she led me to that lost land's gate And bade me enter; but I answered "No!

I will pa.s.s on with my bold comrade, Fate; I have no tears to waste on thee--no time; My strength I h.o.a.rd for heights I hope to climb: No friend art thou for souls that would be great."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "...THE STRIFE THAT IS WEARYING ME"]

LET ME LEAN HARD.

Let me lean hard upon the Eternal Breast: In all earth's devious ways I sought for rest And found it not. I will be strong, said I, And lean upon myself. I will not cry And importune all heaven with my complaint.

But now my strength fails, and I fall, I faint: Let me lean hard.

Let me lean hard upon the unfailing Arm.

I said I will walk on, I fear no harm, The spark divine within my soul will show The upward pathway where my feet should go.

But now the heights to which I most aspire Are lost in clouds. I stumble and I tire: Let me lean hard.

Let me lean harder yet. That swerveless force Which speeds the solar systems on their course Can take, unfelt, the burden of my woe, Which bears me to the dust and hurts me so.

I thought my strength enough for any fate, But lo! I sink beneath my sorrow's weight: Let me lean hard.