Poems of Sentiment Part 6

They wear the stain of bold caresses, Of riotous revels with old King Frost; They dazzle all eyes with their gorgeous dresses, Nor care that their green young leaves are lost.

A wet wind blows from the East one morning, The wood's gay garments looked draggled out.

You hear a sound, and your heart takes warning - The birds are planning their winter route.

They wheel and settle and scold and wrangle, Their tempers are ruffled, their voices loud; Then whirr--and away in a feathered tangle, To fade in the south like a pa.s.sing cloud.

Envoi

A songless wood stripped bare of glory - A sodden moor that is black and brown; The year has finished its last love-story: Oh! let us away to the gay bright town.

SUN SHADOWS

There never was success so n.o.bly gained, Or victory so free from selfish dross, But in the winning some one had been pained Or some one suffered loss.

There never was so n.o.bly planned a fete, Or festal throng with hearts on pleasure bent, But some neglected one outside the gate Wept tears of discontent.

There never was a bridal morning fair With hope's blue skies and love's unclouded sun For two fond hearts, that did not bring despair To some sad other one.

"HE THAT LOOKETH"

Yea, she and I have broken G.o.d's command, And in His sight are branded with our shame.

And yet I do not even know her name, Nor ever in my life have touched her hand Or brushed her garments. But I chanced to stand Beside her in the throng! A sweet, swift flame Shot from her flesh to mine--and hers the blame Of willing looks that fed it; aye, that fanned The glow within me to a hungry fire.

There was an invitation in her eyes.

Had she met mine with coldness or surprise, I had not plunged on headlong in the mire Of amorous thought. The flame leaped high and higher; Her breath and mine pulsated into sighs, And soft glance melted into glance kiss-wise, And in G.o.d's sight both yielded to desire.

AN ERRING WOMAN'S LOVE

PART I

She was a light and wanton maid: Not one whom fickle Love betrayed, For indolence was her undoer.

Fair, frivolous, and very poor, She scorned the thought of toil, in youth, And chose the path that leads from truth.

More women fall from want of gold Than love leads wrong, if truth were told; More women sin for gay attire Than sin through pa.s.sion's blinding fire.

Her G.o.d was gold: and gold she saw Prove mightier than the sternest law With judge and jury, priest and king; So, made herself an offering At Mammon's shrine; and lived for power, And ease, and pleasures of the hour.

Who looks beneath life's outer crust Is satisfied that G.o.d is just; Who looks not under, but about, Finds much to make him sad with doubt.

For Virtue walks with feet worn bare, While Sin rides by with coach and pair: Men praise the modest heart and chaste, And yet they let it go to waste, And follow, fierce to have and hold, Some creature, wanton, selfish, bold.

She saw but this, life's outer side, No higher faith was hers to guide; She wors.h.i.+pped gold, and hated toil, And hence her youth with all its soil, With all its sins too dark to name, Of secret crimes and public shame, With all its trail of broken lives, Of ruined homes, neglected wives, And weeping mothers. Proud and gay She went her devastating way With untouched brow and fadeless grace.

Not time, but feeling, marks the face.

Sin on the outer being tells Not till the startled soul rebels: And she felt nothing but content.

She was too light and indolent To worry over days to come.

This little earth held all life's sum, She thought, and to be young and fair, Well clothed, well fed, was all her care.

With pitying eyes and lifted head She gazed on those who toiled for bread, And laughed to scorn the talk she heard Of punishment for those who erred, And virtue's certain recompense.

She seemed devoid of moral sense, An ignorant thing whose appet.i.tes Bound her horizon of delights.

Men were her puppets to control; Unconscious of a heart or soul She lived, and gloried in the ease She purchased by her power to please The eye and senses. Life's one woe Which caused her pitying tears to flow Was poverty. Though hearts might break And homes be ruined for her sake, She showed no mercy. But when need Of gold she saw, her heart would bleed.

The lack of clothing, fire, and food Was earth's one pain, she understood.

The suffering poor oft blest her name, Nor questioned whence the ducats came, She gave so freely. Once she found A fainting woman on the ground, A wailing child clasped to her breast.

With her own hands she bathed and dressed The weary waifs! gave food and gold And clothed them warmly from the cold, Nor guessed that one she lured from home Had caused that suffering pair to roam Unhoused, neglected. Then one day, Unheralded across her way, The conqueror came. She knew not why, But with the first glance of his eye A feeling, new and unexplained, Woke in her what she oft had feigned.

And when his arm stole near her waist, As startled maidens blush with chaste Sweet fear at love's advances, so She blushed from brow to breast of snow.

Strange, new emotions, fraught with joy And pain commingled, made her coy; But when he would have clasped her neck With gems that might a queen bedeck And offered gold, her lips grew white With sudden anger at the sight Of what had been her G.o.d for years.

She flung them from her. Then such tears As only spring from love's despair Welled from her eyes. "So, lady fair, My gifts are scorned?" quoth he, and laughed.

"Like Cleopatra, you have quaffed Such lordly pearls in draughts of wine, You spurn poor simple gems like mine.

Well, well, fair queen, I'll bring to you A richer gift next time. Adieu."

His light words stung like lash of whip; With gasping breath and ashen lip She strove to speak, but he was gone She kneeled and pressed her mouth upon The latch his hand had touched, the floor His foot had trod, and o'er and o'er She sobbed his name, as children moan A mother's name when left alone.

Out from the dim and roseate gloom And subtle odours of her room Accusing memories rose. She felt A loneliness that seemed to belt The universe in its embrace.

It was as if from some high place A giant hand had reached and hurled To nothingness her petty world, And left her staring, awed, alone, Up into regions vast, unknown.

There is no other loneliness That can so sadden and oppress As when beside the burned-out fire Of sated pa.s.sion and desire The wakening spirit, in a glance, Beholds its lost inheritance.

She rose and turned the dim lights higher, Brought forth rich gems and grand attire, And robed herself in feverish haste; Before the mirror posed and paced, With jewels on her breast and wrists; Then sudden clenched her little fists And beat her face until it bled, And tore her garments shred from shred, Gazed in the mirror, spoke her name And hissed a word that told her shame, Then on her knees fell sobbing there.

There are sweet messengers of prayer Who down through s.p.a.ce on soft wings steal, And offer aid to all who kneel.

Her lips, unused to pious phrase, Recalled some words of bygone days, And "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep,"

She whispered timidly, and then, "Lord, let me be a child again And grow up good." The strange prayer said, Like some o'er-weary child, her head She pillowed on her arm, and wept Low, shuddering sobs, until she slept And dreamed; and in that dream she thought She sat within a vine-wreathed cot; An infant slumbered on her breast, She crooned a lullaby, and pressed Its waxen hand against her cheek, While one, too proud and fond to speak, The happy father of the child, Stood near, and gazing on them, smiled.

She woke while still the lullaby Was on her lips--then such a cry, As souls in fabled realms below Might utter, voiced her awful woe.

The mighty moral labour-pain Of new-born conscience wracked her brain And tore her soul. She understood The meaning now of womanhood, And chast.i.ty, and o'er her came The full, dark sense of all her shame.

As some poor drunken wretch, at night, Wakes up to know his piteous plight, And sees, while sinking in the mire, Afar, his waiting hearth-light's fire; So now she saw from depths of sin The hearth-light of the might-have-been.

How beautiful, how like a star That lost light shone, but ah, how far!

She reached her longing arms toward s.p.a.ce, And lifted up her tear-wet face.

"O G.o.d," she wailed, "I have been bad!

I see it all, and I am sad, And long to be a good girl now.

Lord, Lord, will some one show me how?

Why, men have trod the burning track Of sin for years, and then gone back!

And cannot I for sin atone, Or did Christ die for men alone?

I want to lead an honest life, I want to be his own true wife And hold upon my breast his child."

Then suddenly her voice grew wild, "No, no," she cried, "it could not be - Those infant eyes would torture me: Though G.o.d condoned my sinful ways, I could not meet my child's pure gaze."

She hid her face upon her knees, And swayed as reeds sway in a breeze.

"O Christ," she moaned, "could I forget, There might be something for me yet: But though both G.o.d and man forgave, And I should win the love I crave, Why, memory would drive me mad."

When woman drifts from good to bad, To make her final fall complete, She puts her soul beneath her feet.