Canst thou bring back from a day long vanished The leaping pulse and the boundless aim?
I will pay thee double for all thy trouble, If thou wilt restore all these, good dame.
CONFESSION
I
How shall a maid make answer to a man Who summons her, by love"s supreme decree, To open her whole heart, that he may see The intricate strange ways that love began.
So many streams from that great fountain ran To feed the river that now rushes free, So deep the heart, so full of mystery; How shall a maid make answer to a man?
If I turn back each leaflet of my heart, And let your eyes scan all the records there, Of dreams of love that came before I KNEW, Though in those dreams you had no place or part, Yet, know that each emotion was a stair Which led my ripening womanhood to YOU.
II
Nay, I was not insensate till you came; I know man likes to think a woman clay, Devoid of feeling till the warming ray Sent from his heart lights her with sudden flame.
You asked for truth; I answer without shame; My human heart pulsed blood by night and day, And I believed that Love had come my way Before he conquered with your face and name.
I do not know when first I felt this fire That lends such l.u.s.tre to my hopes and fears, And burns a pathway to you with each thought.
I think in that great hour when G.o.d"s desire For worlds to love flung forth a million spheres, This miracle of love in me was wrought.
An open door, a moonlit sky, A child-like maid with musing eye, A manly footstep pa.s.sing by.
Light as a dewdrop falls from s.p.a.ce Upon a rosebud"s folded grace, A kiss fell on her girlish face.
"Good-night, good-bye," and he was gone.
And so was childhood; it was dawn In that young heart the moon shone on.
His name? his face? dim memories; I only know in that first kiss Was prophesied this later bliss.
The dreams within my bosom grew; Nay, grieve not that my tale is true, Since all those dreams led straight to you.
One time when Autumn donned her robes of splendour And rustled down the year"s receding track, As I pa.s.sed dreaming by, a voice all tender Haled me with youth"s soft call to linger back.
I turned and listened to a golden story!
A wondrous tale, half human, half divine-- A page from bright September"s book of glory, To memorise and make forever mine.
Strange argosies from pa.s.sion"s unknown oceans Cruised down my veins, a vague elusive fleet, With foreign cargoes of unnamed emotions, While wafts of song blew sh.o.r.eward, dim and sweet, And sleeping still (because unwaked by you) I dreamed and dreamed, and thought my visions true.
I woke when all the crimson colour faded And wanton Autumn"s lips and cheeks were pale; And when the sorrowing year had slowly waded, With failing footsteps, through the snow-filled vale.
I woke and knew the glamour of a season Had lent illusive l.u.s.tre to a dream, And looking in the clear calm eyes of Reason, I smiled and said, "Farewell to things that seem."
"Twas but a red leaf from a lush September The wind of dreams across my pathway blew, But oh! my love! the whole round year remember, With all its seasons I bestow on you.
The red leaf perished in the first cold blast The full year"s harvests at your feet I cast.
L"ENVOI
Absolve me, prince; confession is all over.
But listen and take warning, oh! my lover.
You put to rout all dreams that may have been; You won the day, but "tis not all to win; GUARD WELL THE FORT, LEST NEW DREAMS ENTER IN.
A MARRIED COQUETTE
Sit still, I say, and dispense with heroics!
I hurt your wrists? Well, you have hurt me.
It is time you found out that all men are not stoics, Nor toys to be used as your mood may be.
_I will not_ let go of your hands, nor leave you Until I have spoken. No man, you say, Dared ever so treat you before? I believe you, For you have dealt only with _boys_ till to-day.
You women lay stress on your fine perception, Your intuitions are prated about; You claim an occult sort of conception Of matters which men must reason out.
So then, of course, when you ask me kindly "To call again soon," you read my heart.
I cannot believe you were acting blindly; You saw my pa.s.sion for you from the start.
You are one of those women who charm without trying; The clay you are made of is magnet ore, And I am the steel; yet, there"s no denying You led me to loving you more and more.
You are fanning a flame that may burn too brightly, Oft easily kindled, but hard to put out; I am not a man to be played with lightly, To come at a gesture and go at a pout.
A brute you call me, a creature inhuman; You say I insult you, and bid me go.
And you? Oh, you are a saintly woman, With thoughts as pure as the drifted snow.
Pah! you are but one of a thousand beauties Who think they are living exemplary lives: They break no commandments, and do all their duties As Christian women and spotless wives.
But with drooping of lids, and lifting of faces, And baring of shoulders, and well-timed sighs, And the devil knows what other subtle graces, You are mental wantons, who sin with the eyes.
You lure love to wake, yet bid it keep under, You tempt us to fall, but bid reason control; And then you are full of an outraged wonder When we get to wanting you, body and soul.
Why, look at yourself! You were no stranger To the fact that my heart was already on fire.
When you asked me to call you knew my danger, Yet here you are, dressed in the gown I admire; For half of the evil on earth is invented By vain, pretty women with nothing to do But to keep themselves manicured, powdered, and scented, And seek for sensations amusing and new.
But when I play at love at a lady"s commanding, I always am certain to win one game; So there--there--there! I will leave my branding On the lips that are free now to cry "Shame, shame!"
You hate me? Quite likely! It does not surprise me, Brute force? I confess it; _but still you were kissed_; And one thing is certain--you cannot despise me For having been played with, controlled, and dismissed.
And the next time you see that a man is attracted By the beauty and graces that are not for him, Don"t lead him on to be half distracted; Keep out of deep waters although you can swim.
For when he is caught in the whirlpool of pa.s.sion, Where many bold swimmers are seen to drown, A man will reach out and, in desperate fashion, Will drag whoever is nearest him down.
Though the strings of his heart may be wrenched and riven By a maiden coquette who has led him along, She can be pardoned, excused, and forgiven, For innocence blindfolded walks into wrong.
But she who has willingly taken the fetter That Cupid forges at Hymen"s command-- Well, she is the woman who ought to know better; She needs no mercy at any man"s hand.
In the game of hearts, though a woman be winner, The odds are ever against her, you know; The world is ready to call her a sinner, And man is ready to make her so.
Shame is likely, and sorrow is certain, And the man has the best of it, end as it may.
So now, my lady, we"ll drop the curtain, And put out the lights. We are through with our play.