Yesterdays Part 8

Go back! go back! for my heart is breaking, And the same old anguish hurts my breast.

WHY I LOVE HER

Why do I love my sweetheart? Well I really never tried to tell.

I love her mayhap for her smile, So innocent and free from guile.

Perhaps I love her for her mien, So calmly cheerful and serene; Or it may be her silken hair, First caught and tangled Cupid there.

And since I came to a.n.a.lyse; Her chiefest beauty is her eyes.

Her mouth, too, that is Cupid's bow-- Perhaps that's why I love her so.

And now I think of it, her voice First made my rusty heart rejoice And then her hand--'tis my belief It quite outvies the lily leaf.

Perhaps I love her for her ways That blend in with the sunny days.

Tush--to be brief and plain with you, I love her _just because I do_.

DISCONTENT

Like a thorn in the flesh, like a fly in the mesh, Like a boat that is chained to sh.o.r.e, The wild unrest of the heart in my breast Tortures me more and more.

I wot not why, it should wail and cry Like a child that is lost at night, For it knew no grief, but has found relief, And it is not touched with blight.

It has had of pleasure full many a measure; It has thrilled with love's red wine; It has hope and health, and youth's rare wealth-- Oh rich is this heart of mine.

Yet it is not glad--it is wild and mad Like a billow before it breaks; And its ceaseless pain is worse than vain, Since it knows not why it aches.

It longs to be, like the waves of the sea That rise in their might and beat And dash and lunge, and hurry and plunge, And die at the grey rocks' feet.

It wearies of life and it sickens of strife And yet it tires of rest.

Oh! I know not why it should ache and cry-- 'Tis a troublesome heart at best.

Though not understood, I think it a good And G.o.d-like discontent.

It springs from the soul that longs for its goal-- For the source from which it was sent.

Then surge, O breast, with thy wild unrest-- Cry, heart, like a child at night, Till the mystic sh.o.r.e of the Evermore Shall dawn on thy eager sight.

A DREAM

In the night I dreamed that you had died, And I thought you lay in your winding sheet; And I kneeled low by your coffin side, With my cheek on your heart that had ceased to beat.

And I thought as I looked on your form so still, A terrible woe, and an awful pain, Fierce as vultures that slay and kill, Tore at my bosom and maddened my brain.

And then it seemed that the chill of death Over me there like a mantle fell, And I knew by my fluttering, failing breath That the end was near, and all was well.

I woke from my dream in the black midnight-- It was only a dream at worst or best-- But I lay and thought till the dawn of light, Had the dream been true we had both been blest.

Better to kneel by your still dead form, With my cheek on your breast, and die that way, Than to live and battle with night and storm, And drift away from you day by day.

Better the anguish of death and loss, The sharp, quick pain, and the darkness, then, Than living on with this heavy cross To bear about in the world of men.

THE NIGHT

Oh! give me the night, the dark, dark night, The night with never a star.

When the stars are veiled and the moon has sailed Beyond the horizon's bar.

When thought grows weary of groping its way Through darkness dense and deep, And buries its head in oblivion's bed, Wrapped warm in the mantle of sleep.

For I hate the night, the moon-white night, The night with a pallid face, When a million eyes from the watchful skies Peers into each secret place.

For thought awakes and the old wound aches, And Sorrow she cannot rest, But all night long walks to and fro Through the aisles of my troubled breast.

And Memory thinks it her royal hour When the heavens glitter and s.h.i.+ne; And she fills the cup of the past well up With a bitter and scalding wine.

And she calls for a toast to the ghastly ghost Of a joy that used to be.

And that terrible face in the dear old moon Stares steadily down at me.

So give me the night, the deep, dark night, The night with never a star, When the skies are veiled and the moon has sailed Beyond the horizon's bar.

NEW YEAR

The year like a s.h.i.+p in the distance Comes over life's mystical sea.

We know not what change of existence 'Tis bringing to you or to me.

But we wave out the s.h.i.+p that is leaving And we welcome the s.h.i.+p coming in, Although it be loaded with grieving, With trouble, or losses, or sin.

Old year pa.s.sing over the border,-- And fading away from our view; All idleness, sloth, and disorder, All hatred and spite go with you.

All bitterness, gloom, and repining Down into your stronghold are cast.

Sail out where the sunsets are s.h.i.+ning, Sail out with them into the past.

Good reigns over all; and above us, As sure as the sun gives us light, Great forces watch over and love us, And lead us along through the night.

Look up, and reach out, and believe them-- Believe in your infinite worth.

Do nothing to wound or to grieve them, And you shall find heaven on earth.

The body needs conflict and tussle, To render it forceful and grand; The soul, too, has sinew and muscle, Which sorrow alone can expand.

Though troubles come faster and faster, Rise up, brace yourself for each blow; It is only Fate's great fencing Master Instructing your spirit to grow.

The new s.h.i.+p comes nearer and nearer, We know not what freight she may hold; Hope stands at the helm there to steer her, Our hearts are courageous and bold.

Sail in with new joys and new sorrows, Sail in with new banners unfurled, Sail in with unwritten to-morrows, Sail in with new tasks for the world.