Riley Love-Lyrics - LightNovelsOnl.com
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I dream to-day, o'er a purple stain Of bloom on a withered stalk, Pelted down by the autumn rain In the dust of the garden-walk, That an Angel-rose in the world to be Will hide in the leaves in wait for me.
WHEN AGE COMES ON
When Age comes on!-- The deepening dusk is where the dawn Once glittered splendid, and the dew In honey-drips, from red rose-lips Was kissed away by me and you.-- And now across the frosty lawn Black foot-prints trail, and Age comes on-- And Age comes on!
And biting wild-winds whistle through Our tattered hopes--and Age comes on!
When Age comes on!-- O tide of raptures, long withdrawn, Flow back in summer-floods, and fling Here at our feet our childhood sweet, And all the songs we used to sing!...
Old loves, old friends--all dead and gone-- Our old faith lost--and Age comes on-- And Age comes on!
Poor hearts! have we not anything But longings left when Age comes on!
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HAS SHE FORGOTTEN?
Has she forgotten? On this very May We were to meet here, with the birds and bees, As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away The vines from these old granites, cold and gray-- And yet indeed not grim enough were they To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstasies, Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies.
Has she forgotten--that the May has won Its promise?--that the bird-songs from the tree Are sprayed above the gra.s.ses as the sun Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly?
Has she forgotten life--love--everyone-- Has she forgotten me--forgotten me?
II
Low, low down in the violets I press My lips and whisper to her. Does she hear, And yet hold silence, though I call her dear, Just as of old, save for the tearfulness Of the clenched eyes, and the soul's vast distress?
Has she forgotten thus the old caress That made our breath a quickened atmosphere That failed nigh unto swooning with the sheer Delight? Mine arms clutch now this earthen heap Sodden with tears that flow on ceaselessly As autumn rains the long, long, long nights weep In memory of days that used to be,-- Has she forgotten these? And in her sleep, Has she forgotten me--forgotten me?
III
To-night, against my pillow, with shut eyes, I mean to weld our faces--through the dense Incalculable darkness make pretense That she has risen from her reveries To mate her dreams with mine in marriages Of mellow palms, smooth faces, and tense ease Of every longing nerve of indolence,-- Lift from the grave her quiet lips, and stun My senses with her kisses--drawl the glee Of her glad mouth, full blithe and tenderly, Across mine own, forgetful if is done The old love's awful dawn-time when said we, "To-day is ours!"... Ah, Heaven! can it be She has forgotten me--forgotten me!
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BLOOMS OF MAY
But yesterday!...
O blooms of May, And summer roses--Where-away?
O stars above, And lips of love And all the honeyed sweets thereof!
O lad and la.s.s And orchard-pa.s.s And briered lane, and daisied gra.s.s!
O gleam and gloom, And woodland bloom, And breezy breaths of all perfume!--
No more for me Or mine shall be Thy raptures--save in memory,-- No more--no more-- Till through the Door Of Glory gleam the days of yore.
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THE SERMON OF THE ROSE
Wilful we are in our infirmity Of childish questioning and discontent.
Whate'er befalls us is divinely meant-- Thou Truth the clearer for thy mystery!
Make us to meet what is or is to be With fervid welcome, knowing it is sent To serve us in some way full excellent, Though we discern it all belatedly.
The rose buds, and the rose blooms and the rose Bows in the dews, and in its fulness, lo, Is in the lover's hand,--then on the breast Of her he loves,--and there dies.--And who knows Which fate of all a rose may undergo Is fairest, dearest, sweetest, loveliest?
Nay, we are children: we will not mature.
A blessed gift must seem a theft; and tears Must storm our eyes when but a joy appears In drear disguise of sorrow; and how poor We seem when we are richest,--most secure Against all poverty the lifelong years We yet must waste in childish doubts and fears That, in despite of reason, still endure!
Alas! the sermon of the rose we will Not wisely ponder; nor the sobs of grief Lulled into sighs of rapture; nor the cry Of fierce defiance that again is still.
Be patient--patient with our frail belief, And stay it yet a little ere we die.
O opulent life of ours, though dispossessed Of treasure after treasure! Youth most fair Went first, but left its priceless coil of hair-- Moaned over sleepless nights, kissed and caressed Through drip and blur of tears the tenderest.
And next went Love--the ripe rose glowing there Her very sister!... It is here; but where Is she, of all the world the first and best?
And yet how sweet the sweet earth after rain-- How sweet the sunlight on the garden wall Across the roses--and how sweetly flows The limpid yodel of the brook again!
And yet--and yet how sweeter after all, The smouldering sweetness of a dead red rose!
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