Grow snow-showers in the street to me,
Yet inmost in my stormy sense
Thy looks shall be an influence.
Though other loves may come and go
And long years sever us below,
Shall the thin ice that grows above
Freeze the deep centre-well of love?
No, still below light amours, thou
Shalt rule me as thou rul’st me now.
Year following year shall only set
Fresh gems upon thy coronet;
And Time, grown lover, shall delight
To beautify thee in my sight;
And thou shalt ever rule in me
Crowned with the light of memory.
MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACK-BIRD SINGS
My heart, when first the blackbird sings,
My heart drinks in the song:
Cool pleasure fills my bosom through
And spreads each nerve along.
My bosom eddies quietly,
My heart is stirred and cool
As when a wind-moved briar sweeps
A stone into a pool
But unto thee, when thee I meet,
My pulses thicken fast,
As when the maddened lake grows black
And ruffles in the blast.
I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR
I.
I dreamed of forest alleys fair
And fields of gray-flowered grass,
Where by the yellow summer moon
My Jenny seemed to pass.
I dreamed the yellow summer moon,
Behind a cedar wood,
Lay white on fields of rippling grass
Where I and Jenny stood.
I dreamed—but fallen through my dream,
In a rainy land I lie
Where wan wet morning crowns the hills
Of grim reality.
II.
I am as one that keeps awake
All night in the month of June,
That lies awake in bed to watch
The trees and great white moon.
For memories of love are more
Than the white moon there above,
And dearer than quiet moonshine
Are the thoughts of her I love.
III.
Last night I lingered long without
My last of loves to see.
Alas! the moon-white window-panes
Stared blindly back on me.
To-day I hold her very hand,
Her very waist embrace—
Like clouds across a pool, I read
Her thoughts upon her face.
And yet, as now, through her clear eyes
I seek the inner shrine—
I stoop to read her virgin heart
In doubt if it be mine—
O looking long and fondly thus,
What vision should I see?
No vision, but my own white face
That grins and mimics me.
IV.
Once more upon the same old seat
In the same sunshiny weather,
The elm-trees’ shadows at their feet
And foliage move together.
The shadows shift upon the grass,
The dial point creeps on;
The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass,
As then they passed and shone.
But now deep sleep is on my heart,
Deep sleep and perfect rest.
Hope’s flutterings now disturb no more
The quiet of my breast.
ST. MARTIN’S SUMMER
As swallows turning backward
When half-way o’er the sea,
At one word’s trumpet summons
They came again to me—
The hopes I had forgotten
Came back again to me.
I know not which to credit,
O lady of my heart!
Your eyes that bade me linger,
Your words that bade us part—
I know not which to credit,
My reason or my heart.
But be my hopes rewarded,
Or be they but in vain,
I have dreamed a golden vision,
I have gathered in the grain—
I have dreamed a golden vision,
I have not lived in vain.
DEDICATION
My first gift and my last, to you
I dedicate this fascicle of songs—
The only wealth I have:
Just as they are, to you.
I speak the truth in soberness, and say
I had rather bring a light to your clear