The little arms that slowly, slowly loosed Their pressure round your neck; the hands you used To kiss.--Such arms--such hands I never knew.
May I not weep with you?
Fain would I be of service--say some thing, Between the tears, that would be comforting,-- But ah! so sadder than yourselves am I, Who have no child to die.
J.W. RILEY.
The Chariot.
Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility.
We pa.s.sed the school where children played, Their lessons scarcely done; We pa.s.sed the fields of gazing grain.
We pa.s.sed the setting sun.
We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound.
Since then "tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses" heads Were toward eternity.
E. d.i.c.kINSON.
Indian Summer.
These are the days when birds come back, A very few, a bird or two, To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies put on The old, old sophistries of June,-- A blue and gold mistake.
Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee, Almost thy plausibility Induces my belief,
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear, And softly through the altered air Hurries a timid leaf!
Oh, sacrament of summer days, Oh, last communion in the haze, Permit a child to join,
Thy sacred emblems to partake, Thy consecrated bread to break, Taste thine immortal wine!
E. d.i.c.kINSON.
Confided.
Another lamb, O Lamb of G.o.d, behold, Within this quiet fold, Among Thy Father"s sheep I lay to sleep!
A heart that never for a night did rest Beyond its mother"s breast.
Lord, keep it close to Thee, Lest waking it should bleat and pine for me!
J.B. TABB.
In Absence.
All that thou art not, makes not up the sum Of what thou art, beloved, unto me: All other voices, wanting thine, are dumb; All vision, in thine absence, vacancy.
J.B. TABB.
Song of the Chattahoochee.[13]
Out of the hills of Habersham, Down the valleys of Hall, I hurry amain to reach the plain, Run the rapids and leap the fall Split at the rock and together again, Accept my bed, or narrow or wide, And flee from folly on every side With a lover"s pain to attain the plain Far from the hills of Habersham, Far from the valleys of Hall.
All down the hills of Habersham, All through the valleys of Hall, The rushes cried _Abide, abide_, The wilful waterweeds held me thrall, The laving laurel turned my tide, The ferns and the fondling gra.s.s said _Stay_, The dewberry dipped for to work delay, And the little reeds sighed _Abide, abide_ _Here in the hills of Habersham_ _Here in the valleys of Hall_.
High o"er the hills of Habersham, Veiling the valleys of Hall, The hickory told me manifold Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall Wrought me her shadowy self to hold, The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign, Said, _Pa.s.s not, so cold, these manifold_ _Deep shades of the hills of Habersham_, _These glades in the valleys of Hall_.
And oft in the hills of Habersham, And oft in the valleys of Hall, The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone Did bar me of pa.s.sage with friendly brawl, And many a luminous jewel lone --Crystals clear or acloud with mist, Ruby, garnet and amethyst-- Made lures with the lights of streaming stone In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, In the beds of the valleys of Hall.
But oh, not the hills of Habersham, And oh, not the valleys of Hall Avail: I am fain for to water the plain.
Downward the voices of Duty call-- Downward to toil and be mixed with the main.
The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn, And a myriad flowers mortally yearn, And the lordly main from beyond the plain Calls o"er the hills of Habersham, Calls through the valleys of Hall.
S. LANIER.
[13] From "Poems of Sidney Lanier," copyright, 1884, 1891, by Mary D.
Lanier, published by Charles Scribner"s Sons.
The Sea"s Voice.