Читать книгу Stray Pebbles from the Shores of Thought - Gould Elizabeth Porter - Страница 2

How do I love thee?

Oh, who knows

How the blush of the rose

Can its secret disclose?

Oh, who knows?

Why do I love thee?

Ah, who cares

Sound a passion he shares

With the angels? Who dares,

Yes, who dares?

Thine eyes are stars to hold me

To love's pure rapturous height.

Thy thoughts are pearls to lead me

To truth beyond earth's sight.

Thy love is life to keep me

Forever in God's light.

Thy birthday, dear?

Oh, would I had the poet's art

By which I could my wish impart

For thy new year;

But e'en a poet's pen of gold

Would fail my wish to thee unfold

In earthly sphere.

Thy birthday, dear?

Oh, would I had the painter's skill

Prophetic visions to fulfill

For thy new year;

But e'en a painter's rarest brush

Would but my holy visions crush,

Or fail to cheer.

Thy birthday, dear?

Oh, would I had sweet music's aid

To vitalize the prayers I've made

For thy new year;

Alas! not even music's best

Could put in form my soul's behest

For thee, my dear.

That only will expression find

In purest depths of thine own mind

This coming year;

As, guided by the inner light,

There'll come to thee the new-born sight

Of ravished seer.

But in this sight thou may'st so feel

Eternal beauty o'er thee steal —

God's gift, my dear —

That thou can'st find the blessed art

By which to make e'en depths of heart

In form appear.

Yet, it may be a heaven's birthday

Will have to dawn for us to say

Our best things, dear.

For, as thou know'st, Truth's deepest well

Must e'er reflect, its depths to tell

Heaven's atmosphere.

The kiss still burns upon my brow,

That kiss of long ago,

When in the flush of love's first hour

He said he loved me so.

Another burns yet deeper still,

The kiss of wedded bliss,

When soul met soul in rapture sweet —

Oh, pure love's burning kiss!

The third was laid away with him,

A kiss for heaven's day,

(O heart abide God's way) —

When in the life beyond earth's change,

Beyond these mysteries sad and strange,

New life will spring from out the old,

New thoughts will larger truth unfold,

And love have endless sway.

If I were only sure

He loves me still,

As in the realms of beauteous space

(Alas! so far from my embrace)

He bides God's will,

I could be more content to bear

The bitter anguish and despair

Which now me fill.

If I were only sure

He waits for me

To join him in the heavenly realm

(Oh, how the thought does overwhelm)

When body-free,

I could the better bear my fate,

As day by day I learn to wait

In silent agony.

O Father, in my doubt

One thing is sure,

That Thou, all love, could ne'er destroy

(Death only is in earth's alloy)

Such love so pure

As that which blessed our union here,

The love which knew no change nor fear —

Such must endure.

The days are happy here, dear,

But happier would they be

Could'st thou be near to bless me

With love's sweet ministry;

Then all this beauty round me

Would on my memory lie,

As prayers of sainted mother,

Or childhood's lullaby.

Oh! ecstasy rare

Comes down to share

The heart that with human love trembles;

While all on the earth

Is crowned with new birth

And everything heaven resembles.

But grief and despair

Have latent their share

In hearts that with human love tremble,

Since fires of love

Enkindled above

In frail earthen vessels assemble.

Still, ecstasy rare

Comes down to share

The heart that with human love trembles;

While all on the earth

Is crowned with new birth

And everything heaven resembles.

She picks me June roses.

Were ever such roses?

Their fragrance would honor

The heavenly halls.

She finds me pet pansies.

Such wondrous-eyed pansies,

And lovely nasturtiums

That run on the walls.

Sweet peas she's now bringing,

While all the time singing.

And I? Ask the flowers

To tell what befalls.

Would I were beautiful!

Then you at Beauty's shrine might freely dine,

A welcome guest

For joy's bequest.

But, dear, if this were so, —

If I were Beauty's child, all undefiled,

To make you blest

In beauty's quest,

You might forget to see

The soul's pure hidden shrine wherein e'er shine

The things that test

Love's true behest.

Would I were beautiful,

That you might better see the soul in me!

That wish is best,

Is 't not, dearest?

Oh, the prayer of a dear virgin-heart,

Breathed forth with true love's gentle art!

Is there anything purer

On land or on sea,

More laden with blessing

For you or for me?

It is sweeter than song ever heard,

More precious than love's spoken word.

It is fraught with a keen recognition

Of truest soul-need and fruition.

Is there anything purer

On land or on sea,

More laden with comfort

For you or for me?

It is oftentimes born in great pain,

With no ray of hope's blessed gain.

But as lulled by the angels at midnight

Ere reaching the infinite daylight

Is there anything surer,

On land or on sea,

To bring the God-Father

To you or to me?

Through all this summer joy and rest,

Though lying on fair Nature's breast,

There breathes the longing heart's desire,

Would he were here!

The thrill of pain kind Nature feels;

For all the while there o'er me steals

Like holy chimes in midnight air,

"He'll soon be here."

And flowers and trees, vales, hills, and birds

Make haste to echo her glad words,

"He'll soon be here."

Sing too, little bird, what my heart sings to-day.

Dost thou know? —

I'll speak low —

"Oh, I do love him so."

Hold safe, waving grass, in thy rhythmical flow,

What I say,

Till the day

When as sweet new-mown hay

Thou can'st bear it to him in the fragrance loved best.

Thou dost fear? —

Oh, love dear,

How I wish thou wert here!

But pause, little cloud, thou canst carry it now,

I am sure,

Sweet and pure,

Though the winds do allure;

For thou art on the way to the west where he is.

But dost know? —

Tell him low,

"That I do love him so,

Oh! I do love him so."

God's love was once enough

My heart to satisfy,

When in the days of childhood's faith

I knew not doubt or sigh.

But since I saw Roy's face,

And knew his love's sweet cheer,

And felt the anguish and despair

Which come from partings here,

So hungry have I grown

No love can satisfy,

And all my childhood's faith in God

Doth mock me as a lie.

But still in these dark hours

I hold one anchor fast:

Perhaps this is the woman's way

To reach God's love at last.

The deepening years have proved

Love's conquest justified.

The woman's hungry heart at last

In God is satisfied.

Has Love come?

Ah, too late!

Already Death stands o'er me

With hungry eyes that bore me —

O cruel fate,

That after all life's years

Of sacrifice and tears,

'Tis Death, not Love, that wins.

But, stay! This message bear,

Ere yet Death's work begins:

"In other realms earth's losses

Will change from saddening crosses

To love-crowned joy,

Where Death shall have no mission,

But Love his sweet fruition

Without alloy."

'Twas much he asked – a virgin heart

Unknown to worldly ways.

What could he give? Ah, well he knew

He lacked sweet virtue's praise.

The virgin heart was given to him

Without a doubting thought,

When, lo! through seeming sacrifice

A miracle was wrought;

A miracle of love and grace,

Revealing woman's power;

For, clothed in purity, he rose

To meet the coming hour.

Last night the ocean's moan

Was to my ears

The deep sad undertone

Of vanished years,

Bearing a burden,

A bliss unattained,

A strife and a longing,

A life sad and pained,

To the shores vast and free

Of eternity's sea.

But in that undertone

Of restless pain,

Came at length a monotone

Of sweet refrain,

Bearing a passion

Long known to the sea —

Told in moments of silence

A sad heart to free —

To be borne me some day

In the ocean's own way.

And this rare monotone

Of mystery

Was now that passion-moan

Of secrecy,

Bearing, "I love her,

My moaning ne'er'll cease

Till she on my breast

Findeth love's perfect peace;

Till she on my breast

Findeth love's perfect rest."

Oh, is there tenderer tone

For mortal ear,

Than such a monotone,

Distinct and clear,

Bearing its comfort,

Its heavenly peace,

Its help for all sorrow,

Its heart-pain release,

To a soul waiting long

For love's tender, true song?

And now the ocean's moan

Is to my ears

The dearest undertone

Of all the years,

Bearing a memory,

A sweet bliss attained,

A gratified longing,

A life's joys regained,

To the shores vast and free

Of eternity's sea.

Love's sweet and tender flower

Of pure, perennial life,

Blooms ever fresh in power

O'er all earth's wrong and strife.

Pluck not in haste, young man,

This flower of wondrous hue,

Nor dare to crush, nor fail to scan.

Such beauty ever new.

Gaze at it long, young girl,

And guard its sacred blush;