The Little Book of Modern Verse Part 13

O it is young as morning-hours, And old as is the night; O it has growth of budding flowers, Yet tastes my body's blight.

And it is silent and apart, And far and fair and still, Yet ever beats within my heart, And cries within my will.

And it is light and bright and strange, And sees life far away, Yet far with near can interchange And dwell within the day.

My soul has died a thousand deaths, And yet it does not die; My soul has broke a thousand faiths, And yet it cannot lie;

My soul -- there's naught can make it less; My soul -- there's naught can mar; Yet here it weeps with loneliness Within its lonely star.

My soul -- not any dark can bind, Nor hinder any hand, Yet here it weeps -- long blind, long blind -- And cannot understand.

Irish Peasant Song. [Louise Imogen Guiney]

I try to knead and spin, but my life is low the while.

Oh, I long to be alone, and walk abroad a mile; Yet if I walk alone, and think of naught at all, Why from me that's young should the wild tears fall?

The shower-sodden earth, the earth-colored streams, They breathe on me awake, and moan to me in dreams, And yonder ivy fondling the broke castle-wall, It pulls upon my heart till the wild tears fall.

The cabin-door looks down a furze-lighted hill, And far as Leighlin Cross the fields are green and still; But once I hear the blackbird in Leighlin hedges call, The foolishness is on me, and the wild tears fall!

The Prince. [Josephine Dodge Daskam]

My heart it was a cup of gold That at his lip did long to lie, But he hath drunk the red wine down, And tossed the goblet by.

My heart it was a floating bird That through the world did wander free, But he hath locked it in a cage, And lost the silver key.

My heart it was a white, white rose That bloomed upon a broken bough, He did but wear it for an hour, And it is withered now.

Four Winds. [Sara Teasdale]

"Four winds blowing thro' the sky, You have seen poor maidens die, Tell me then what I shall do That my lover may be true."

Said the wind from out the south, "Lay no kiss upon his mouth,"

And the wind from out the west, "Wound the heart within his breast,"

And the wind from out the east, "Send him empty from the feast,"

And the wind from out the north, "In the tempest thrust him forth; When thou art more cruel than he, Then will Love be kind to thee."

A West-Country Lover. [Alice Brown]

Then, lady, at last thou art sick of my sighing.

Good-bye!

So long as I sue, thou wilt still be denying?

Good-bye!

Ah, well! shall I vow then to serve thee forever, And swear no unkindness our kins.h.i.+p can sever?

Nay, nay, dear my la.s.s! here's an end of endeavor.

Good-bye!

Yet let no sweet ruth for my misery grieve thee.

Good-bye!

The man who has loved knows as well how to leave thee.

Good-bye!

The gorse is enkindled, there's bloom on the heather, And love is my joy, but so too is fair weather; I still ride abroad though we ride not together.

Good-bye!

My horse is my mate; let the wind be my master.

Good-bye!

Though Care may pursue, yet my hound follows faster.

Good-bye!

The red deer's a-tremble in coverts unbroken.

He hears the hoof-thunder; he scents the death-token.

Shall I mope at home, under vows never spoken?

Good-bye!

The brown earth's my book, and I ride forth to read it.

Good-bye!

The stream runneth fast, but my will shall outspeed it.

Good-bye!

I love thee, dear la.s.s, but I hate the hag Sorrow.

As sun follows rain, and to-night has its morrow, So I'll taste of joy, though I steal, beg, or borrow!

Good-bye!

A Winter Ride. [Amy Lowell]

Who shall declare the joy of the running!