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Meet, if thou require it,
In thy hands !
That shall be to-morrow
Out of sight.
Must a little weep, Love,
- Foolish me!
Loved by thee.
A SERENADE AT THE VILLA.
"HAT was I, you heard last night
Nor, to pierce the strained and tight
Tent of heaven, a planet small : Life was dead, and so was light.
Not a twinkle from the fly,
Not a glimmer from the worm. When the crickets stopped their cry,
When the owls forbore a term, You heard music; that was I.
Earth turned in her sleep with pain,
Sultrily suspired for proof: In at heaven and out again,
Lightning !- where it broke the roof, Bloodlike, some few drops of rain.
What they could my words expressed,
O my love, my all, my one! Singing helped the verses best,
And when singing's best was done, To my lute I left the rest.
So wore night; the east was gray,
White the broad-faced hemlock flowers; Soon would come another day ;
Ere its first of heavy hours Found me, I had past away.
What became of all the hopes,
Words and song and lute as well? Say, this struck you,
When life gropes Feebly for the path where fell Light last on the evening slopes,
“One friend in that path shall be
To secure my steps from wrong ; One to count night day for me,
Patient through the watches long, Serving most with none to see.'
as something bodes, “ So the worst has yet a worse ! When life halts 'neath double loads,
Better the task-master's curse Than such music on the roads !
“When no moon succeeds the sun,
Nor can pierce the midnight's tent Any star, the smallest one,
While some drops, where lightning went, Show the final storm begun,
“ When the fire-fly hides its spot,
When the garden-voices fail In the darkness thick and hot,
Shall another voice avail,
“Has some plague a longer lease
Proffering its help uncouth?
As one shuts one's eyes on youth,
0, how dark your villa was,
Windows fast and obdurate!
Where I stood, — the iron gate
Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed ;
She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, Beginning to die too, in the glass.
Little has yet been changed, I think,The shutters are shut, no light may pass
Save two long rays through the hinge's chink.
Sixteen years old when she died !
Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name, It was not her time to love: beside,
Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares,
And now was quiet, now astir, Till God's hand beckoned unawares,
And the sweet white brow is all of her.
Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope ?
What, your soul was pure and true, The good stars met in your horoscope,
Made you of spirit, fire, and dew, And just because I was thrice as old,
And our paths in the world diverged so wide, Each was naught to each, must I be told ?
We were fellow-mortals, naught beside ? No, indeed! for God above
Is great to grant, as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love,
I claim you still, for my own love's sake! Delayed it may be for more lives yet,
Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few, Much is to learn and much to forget
Ere the time be come for taking you. But the time will come, at last it will,
When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, In the lower earth, in the years long still,
That body and soul so pure and gay? Why your hair was amber, I shall divine,
And your mouth of your own geranium's red, And what you would do with me, in fine,
In the new life come in the old one's stead. I have lived, I shall say, so much since then,
Given up myself so many times, Gained me the gains of various men,
Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes ;
Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope,
Either I missed or itself missed me, And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope !
What is the issue ? let us see!
I loved you, Evelyn, all the while ;
My heart seemed full as it could hold, There was place and to spare for the frank young smile,
And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. So, hush, - I will give you this leaf to keep, —
See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand. There, that is our secret! go to sleep;
You will wake, and remember, and understand.
LL that I know
Of a certain star,
(Like the angled spar)
Now a dart of blue,
They would fain see, too,
They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. What matter to me if their star is a world?
Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.