THE PLAY
In the rosy light of my day"s fair morning, Ere ever a storm cloud darkened the west, Ere even a shadow of night gave warning When life seemed only a pleasure quest, Why then all humour and comedy scorning-- I liked high tragedy best.
I liked the challenge, the fierce fought duel, With a death or a parting in every act.
I liked the villain to be more cruel Than the basest villain could be in fact: For it fed the fires of my mind with the fuel Of the things that my life lacked.
But as time pa.s.sed on, and I met real sorrow, And she played at night on the stage--my heart, I found I could not forget on the morrow The pain I had felt in her tragic part.
For alas! no longer I needed to borrow My grief from the actor"s art.
And as life grows older, and therefore sadder (Though sweeter maybe with its autumn haze), I find more pleasure in watching the gladder And lighter order of humorous plays.
Where the mirth is as mad, or maybe madder, Than the mirth of my lost days.
I like to be forced to laugh and be merry, Though the earth with sorrow and pain is rife: I like for an evening at least to bury All thoughts of trouble, or pain, or strife.
In sooth, I like to be moved to the very Emotions I miss in life.
AS WE LOOK BACK (RONDEAU)
As we look back at our lost Used-to-Be, "The light that never was on land or sea"
Touches the distant mountain peaks with gold, And through the gla.s.s of memory we behold Such blossoms as grow not on any lea.
The double leaf upon the poplar tree Turns up its silver side to you and me, And glow-worm lanterns light the lonely wold As we look back.
No sounds we hear but echoes of young glee; No winds we feel but west winds blowing free, From those fair isles that seem a thousandfold More beautiful than in the days of old; And all the clouds that hang above them flee, As we look back.
WHY
Why do eyes that were tender, Averted, turn away?
Why has our dear love"s splendour All faded into gray?
Why is it that lips glow not That late were all aglow?
I know not, dear, I know not, I only know "tis so.
Why do you no more tremble Now when I kiss your cheek?
Why do we both dissemble The thoughts we used to speak?
Why is it that words flow not That used to fondly flow?
I know not, dear, I know not, I only know "tis so.
Have we outlived the pa.s.sion That late lit earth and sky?
And is this but the fashion A fond love takes to die?
Is it, that we shall know not Again love"s rapture glow?
I trust not, sweet, I trust not-- And yet it may be so.
LISTEN
Whoever you are as you read this, Whatever your trouble or grief, I want you to know and to heed this, The day draweth near with relief.
No sorrow, no woe, is unending; Though heaven seems voiceless and dumb, Remember your cry is ascending, And an answer will certainly come.
Whatever temptation is near you, Whose eyes on this simple verse fall, Remember good angels will hear you, And help you, so sure as you call.
Who stunned with despair, I beseech you, Whatever your losses, your need, Believe when these printed words reach you-- Believe you were born to succeed.
TOGETHER
We two in the fever, and fervour, and glow Of life"s high tide have rejoiced together.
We have looked out over the glittering snow, And known we were dwelling in summer weather.
For the seasons are made by the heart, I hold, And not by the outdoor heat or cold.
We two in the shadows of pain and fear Have journeyed together in dim, dark places, Where black-robed sorrow walked to and fro, And fear and trouble with phantom faces Peered out upon us, and froze our blood, Though June"s fair roses were all in bud.
We two have measured all depths, all heights; We have bathed in tears, we have sunned in laughter; We have known all sorrow, and all delights, They never could keep us apart hereafter.
Wherever your spirit was sent I know, I would find my way in the dark, and go.
If they took my soul into Paradise, And told me I must be content without you, I would weary them so with my homesick cries, And the ceaseless questions I asked about you, They would open the gates and set me free, Or else they would find you and bring you to me.
ONE NIGHT
Was it last summer, or ages gone, That damp, dark night in the August dusk, When I waited for you by the gate alone?
And the air was heavy with scents like musk.
Swiftly and silently shooting down Like the lonesome light of a falling star, I saw through the shadows dense and brown, The dull red light of your fine cigar.
Like a king who taketh his own, you came Through the lowering night and the falling dew.
Like one who yields to a rightful claim, I waited there in the dusk for you.
Never again when the day grows late, Never again in the years to be, Shall I stand in the dark and dew, and wait, And never again will you come to me.
But always and ever when high and far The old moon hideth her troubled face, I think how the light like a falling star Lit all my world with a new strange grace.
The pa.s.sionate glow of your splendid eyes Shines into my heart as it shone that night, And its slumberous billows surge and rise As the ocean is stirred by the tempest"s might.