The Cornflower, and Other Poems Part 28

When at length we reach her side.

For the ears are heavy and cannot hear, And the chill lips cannot move To whisper "Peace," though our hearts may break With longing, and pain, and love,

O this coming too late with our tenderness!

O the pa.s.sionate tears that spring!

I'll tell you the saddest thing, dear heart, I'll tell you the saddest thing!

Then let us make haste to be friends again, Make haste to fold to our breast The one we have hurt by word and deed, Though we loved that one the best.

"Forgive and forget! Forgive and forget!"

O warm in the tear-wet eyes Is the glow and the gleam of a golden light From the sh.o.r.es of Paradise.

O the kissing and making up again, And the tender whispering!

I'll tell you the sweetest thing, dear heart, I'll tell you the sweetest thing.

THE ARGUMENT.

"As friend," she said, "I will be kind, My sympathy will rarely fail, My eyes to many faults be blind-- As wife, I'll lecture, scold, and rail,

"Be full of moods, a shrew one day, A thing of tenderness the next, Will kiss and wound--a woman's way That long the soul of man has vext.

"You've been a true, unselfish man, Have thought upon my good alway, Been strong to s.h.i.+eld, and wise to plan, But ah! there is a change to-day.

"There's mastery in your 'Be my wife!'

For self stands up and eagerly Claims all my love, and all my life, The body and the soul of me.

"Come, call me friend, and own me such, Nor count it such a wondrous thing To hold me close, thrill at my touch-- A lord and master!--there's the sting.

"'Tis all or naught with you, you plead, And he is blest who boldly wins; These words," she said, "are proof, indeed, That love and selfishness are twins.

"Yet, had you let my wisdom sway, Would it have pleased me, who can tell?

I might have said regretfully: 'Methinks I reasoned far too well!'"

THE SECRET.

The throng about her did not know, Her nearest friend could not surmise Whence came the brightness and the glow, The wondrous radiance of her eyes.

One said, half enviously: "Your face Is beautiful with gladness rare, With that warm, generous heart of yours Some precious secret you must share."

Ah, true beneath the filmy lace That rose and fell upon her breast, Her first love-taken held its place-- From him, from him whom she loved best!

VASHTI.

"O last days of the year!" she whispered low, "You fly too swiftly past. Ah, you might stay A while, a little while. Do you not know What tender things you bear with you away?

"I'm thinking, sitting in the soft gloom here, Of all the riches that were mine the day There crept down on the world the soft New Year, A rosy thing with promise filled, and gay.

"But twelve short months ago! a little s.p.a.ce In which to lose so much--a whole life's wealth Of love and faith, youth and youth's tender grace-- Things that are wont to go from us by stealth.

"Laughter and blushes, and the rapture strong, The clasp of clinging hands, the ling'ring kiss, The joy of living, and the glorious song That drew its sweetness from a full heart's bliss.

"O wealth of tenderness! O gladness great!

That crowned me, covered me a year ago!

A bankrupt, I--gone faith, gone warm caress Gone love, gone youth, gone all!"

She whispered low.

"Oh, last days of the year, you take away The riches that I held so close and dear.

Go not so swiftly, stay a little, stay With one poor bankrupt, Last days of the year."

THE TREASURE BOX.

I asked Aunt Persis yester-eve, as twilight fell, If she had things of value hidden safe away-- Treasures that were her very own? And did she love To bring them forth, and feast her eyes upon their worth, And finger them with all a miser's greed of touch?

She smiled that slow, warm smile of hers, and drew me down Beside her in the inglenook. The rain beat hard Against the panes, without the world was doubly gray With twilight and with cloud. The room was full of shade Till Persis stirred the slumbering grate fire wide awake, And made it send its flickering shafts of light into Each corner dim--gay shafts that chased the shadows forth And took their place, then stole away and let The shadow back, and then gave chase again, The maddest and the stillest game!

To music of The raindrops on the pane, and wind that softly shrilled About the eaves, the treasure box was opened wide And its contents exposed to the rude gaze of one Too young, too worldly-wise to know their value great.

I thought to see pearls, corals, quaint, old-fas.h.i.+oned gems, Or lace like gossamer creamed by the hand of time-- Real treasures worthy of the h.o.a.rding.

Lo! I saw A leather-covered book, a worn and musty thing With ragged leaves and many marks. "What is it?" I asked; "To me it looks the school-book that some stupid child Has learned its lesson from."

"And so it is," she smiled. "My father's testament, And at his knee I conned the Golden Rule, and all The wondrous truths that teach us how to live. 'Tis dear To me, you may suppose."

A knot of ribbon that Had once been blue, a braid of dark brown hair, a spray Of lily o' the valley, withered, sere, yet holding still a breath Of sweetness indescribable; some letters tied With silk, a broken fan, some verses scribbled on A yellow page, a baby's shoe, more letters, and, What think you, friend? A string of amber beads, without A trace of value--beads of gla.s.s strung on a bit Of twine. Aunt Persis took them in her hand and let The firelight play on them. "My grandmother's first gift,"

She said, and slipped them round her neck. "I love them best Of all my ornaments--each amber bead holds fast A joy caught in the childhood days of pleasantness, And when I sit here with the sparkling things held close The joys they gathered long ago slip from them to My heart, and ere I know, I am a child once more.

"Treasures! Nay, dear one, in your clear young eyes I see The disappointment grow--no treasures these, you say; These faded things, and poor, these musty, ragged things-- But some day in the gloaming of your life you'll ope Your treasure box, and find a h.o.a.rd of just such things As these--a few rare trifles wrapped in memories."

THE MESSAGE.

My Marjorie doth hold in her white hands A spray of lilies plucked below the brook Where the old ruin of a chapel stands-- A ruin tenanted by many a nook, And all the grayness of it hid from sight By gracious draping of the ivy green.

Sweet lilies, 'tis your glorious fate to-night To lie upon her breast, to send between Her silken bodice and the heart beneath The fragrance given you by sun and shower.