FORBIDDEN SPEECH
The pa.s.sion you forbade my lips to utter Will not be silenced. You must hear it in The sullen thunders when they roll and mutter: And when the tempest nears, with wail and din, I know your calm forgetfulness is broken, And to your heart you whisper, "He has spoken."
All nature understands and sympathises With human pa.s.sion. When the restless sea Turns in its futile search for peace, and rises To plead and to pursue, it pleads for me.
And with each desperate billow"s anguished fretting.
Your heart must tell you, "He is not forgetting."
When unseen hands in lightning strokes are writing Mysterious words upon a cloudy scroll, Know that my pent-up pa.s.sion is inditing A cypher message for your woman"s soul; And when the lawless winds rush by you shrieking, Let your heart say, "Now his despair is speaking."
Love comes, nor goes, at beck or call of reason, Nor is love silent--though it says no word; By day or night, in any clime or season, A dominating pa.s.sion must be heard.
So shall you hear, through Junes and through Decembers, The voice of Nature saying, "He remembers."
THE SUMMER GIRL
She"s the jauntiest of creatures, she"s the daintiest of misses, With her pretty patent leathers or her alligator ties, With her eyes inviting glances and her lips inviting kisses, As she wanders by the ocean or strolls under country skies.
She"s a captivating dresser, and her parasols are stunning; Her fads will take your breath away, her hats are dreams of style; She is not so very bookish, but with repartee and punning She can set the savants laughing and make even dudelets smile.
She has no attacks of talent, she is not a stage-struck maiden; She is wholly free from hobbies, and she dreams of no "career"; She is mostly gay and happy, never sad or care-beladen, Though she sometimes sighs a little if a gentleman is near.
She"s a st.u.r.dy little walker and she braves all kinds of weather, And when the rain or fog or mist drive rival crimps a-wreck, Her fluffy hair goes curling like a kinked-up ostrich feather Around her ears and forehead and the white nape of her neck.
She is like a fish in water; she can handle reins and racket; From head to toe and finger-tips she"s thoroughly alive; When she goes promenading in a most distracting jacket, The rustle round her feet suggests how laundresses may thrive.
She can dare the wind and sunshine in the most bravado manner, And after hours of sailing she has merely cheeks of rose; Old Sol himself seems smitten, and at most will only tan her, Though to everybody else he gives a danger-signal nose.
She"s a trifle sentimental, and she"s fond of admiration, And she sometimes flirts a little in the season"s giddy whirl; But win her if you can, sir, she may prove your life"s salvation, For an angel masquerading oft is she, the Summer Girl.
THE GHOST
Through the open door of dreamland Came a ghost of long ago, long ago.
When I wakened, all unheeding Was the phantom to my pleading; For he would not turn and go, But beside me all the day, In my work and in my play, Trod this ghost of long ago, long ago.
Not a vague and pallid phantom Was this ghost that came to me, followed me: Though he rose from regions haunted, Though he came unbid, unwanted, He was very fair to see.
Like the radiant sun in s.p.a.ce Was the halo round the face Of that ghost that came to me, followed me.
And he wore no shroud or cere-cloth As he wandered at my side, close beside: He was clothed in royal splendour And his eyes were deep and tender, While he walked in stately pride; And he seemed like some great king, Not afraid of anything, As he wandered at my side, close beside.
Then I turned to him commanding That he go the way he came, whence he came.
But he answered me in sorrow, "May the Past not seek to borrow From the Present without blame-- Just one memory from its store, Ere it goes to come no more, Back the pathway that it came, whence it came?"
Then ashamed of my full coffers, I gave forth from Memory"s hold (wondrous hold!) All I owed of tax and duty For remembered hours of beauty, Which I paid in thoughts of gold; Yet my present seemed to be Richer still for all the fee I gave forth from Memory"s hold (wondrous hold!).
THE SIGNBOARD
I will paint you a sign, rumseller, And hang it above your door; A truer and better signboard Than ever you had before.
I will paint with the skill of a master, And many shall pause to see This wonderful piece of painting, So like the reality.
I will paint yourself, rumseller, As you wait for that fair young boy, Just in the morning of manhood, A mother"s pride and joy.
He has no thought of stopping, But you greet him with a smile, And you seem so blithe and friendly, That he pauses to chat awhile.
I will paint you again, rumseller, I will paint you as you stand, With a foaming gla.s.s of liquor Extended in your hand.
He wavers, but you urge him-- Drink, pledge me just this one!
And he takes the gla.s.s and drains it, And the h.e.l.lish work is done.
And next I will paint a drunkard-- Only a year has flown, But into that loathsome creature The fair young boy has grown.
The work was sure and rapid.
I will paint him as he lies In a torpid, drunken slumber, Under the wintry skies.
I will paint the form of the mother As she kneels at her darling"s side, Her beautiful boy that was dearer Than all the world beside.
I will paint the shape of a coffin, Labelled with one word--"Lost"
I will paint all this, rumseller, And will paint it free of cost.
The sin and the shame and the sorrow, The crime and the want and the woe That are born there in your workshop, No hand can paint, you know.
But I"ll paint you a sign, rumseller, And many shall pause to view This wonderful swinging signboard, So terribly, fearfully true.
A MAN"S REPENTANCE (Intended for recitation at club dinners.)
To-night when I came from the club at eleven, Under the gaslight I saw a face-- A woman"s face! and I swear to heaven It looked like the ghastly ghost of--Grace!
And Grace? why, Grace was fair; and I tarried, And loved her a season as we men do.
And then--but pshaw! why, of course, she is married, Has a husband, and doubtless a babe or two.
She was perfectly calm on the day we parted; She spared me a scene, to my great surprise.
"She wasn"t the kind to be broken-hearted,"
I remember she said, with a spark in her eyes.
I was tempted, I know, by her proud defiance, To make good my promise there and then.
But the world would have called it a mesalliance!
I dreaded the comments and sneers of men.