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                            RAIN AND ROSES

                [Illustration: Portrait of the author.]




                            RAIN AND ROSES

                                 _By_

                       JEANNETTE FRASER HENSHALL

                           _To My Daughter_

                                BEULAH

                       [Illustration: colophon]

                                 1923
                     THE STRATFORD CO., PUBLISHERS
                         Boston, Massachusetts

                            Copyright, 1923
                     The STRATFORD CO., Publishers
                             Boston, Mass.


               The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A.




Contents


                                                                    Page

Inadequate                                                             1

Old Masonry                                                            2

Hymn of Adoration                                                      4

Sweet Distress                                                         5

The Chastening                                                         6

The Four Winds of Heaven                                               8

Friend                                                                 9

Humility                                                              10

Shadows                                                               11

Two Roads                                                             12

The Reason                                                            14

When June Comes                                                       15

Through Loving Eyes                                                   17

Worship                                                               18

Evermore                                                              20

A City Guest                                                          22

Reminders                                                             24

Soul                                                                  25

Farewell                                                              26

Rainbow Ribbons                                                       28

My Neighbor’s Roses                                                   30

The Long Twilight                                                     31

A Lone Walk                                                           33

A Death Blow                                                          35

The Breath of Life                                                    36

A Day in Spring                                                       38

Autumn                                                                39

Little Girl                                                           40

My Old House and The Weather                                          42

Blue Stone River, W. Va.                                              44

Sea Hunger                                                            46

Tree Sounds                                                           47

A Wish                                                                48

Middle Creek, W. Va.                                                  49

Endie                                                                 50

In Our Old Street                                                     52

Honey                                                                 54

Moon Dazzle                                                           55

To Friends                                                            56

To a Meadow Lark                                                      57

Broken Numbers                                                        58

I’m Going Out                                                         60

Ingleside                                                             62

Friendship                                                            63

This Year                                                             65

Spring Walkers                                                        66

Winter Woods                                                          68

Brother O’ Mine                                                       71

Dream                                                                 73

Shine and Shower                                                      75

Lines to Death                                                        76

To the New Year                                                       78

Homesickness                                                          80

To Love                                                               81

Your Friend                                                           82

Draw Close to the Fire                                                83

What Love Is                                                          84




        Inadequate


    Friend of my heart when you’re away
      I fashion for my tongue,
    A thousand things to say to you
      But dear heart when you come,

    How needless is my well formed phrase,
      And my care chosen words,
    Take swift and sudden flight away,
      Like small wind-riven birds.

    And with you here, my full glad heart
      Can only say, you’ve come.
    For all your touching, pleading ways
      But serve to make me dumb.




        Old Masonry


    Long, long ago in our old street
    Back from the busy road,
    An old deserted stone house stood
    Breaking beneath its load.

    Such ruin that remained of peaks
    Stood out against the skies.
    And the memory of old things
    Looked from behind its eyes.

    In summer time this dead old house
    Set in its flowery space.
    One likened to a stranger
    In a much too friendly place.

    In winter time its creaking frame
    With all its falling beams,
    Was like a sea rocked sailor
    Grown weary of his dreams.

    It leaned a little westward.
    And now I think it knew,
    And was waiting other voices
    It long had listened to.

    Once I was part of this old ruin
    When I myself were young.
    Out of pity I must leave you
    And half the song unsung.




        Hymn of Adoration


    I am grown weary for new scenes
      But not of human make.
    But O! for hills and long green fields,
      A splintered, glittering lake.

    This day I am an intimate
      With sky and bird and tree.
    With budding boughs and turbulent streams
      And God’s immensity.

    I am enamored with fresh days
      Drenched with rain and sun.
    The tho’t of thine omnipotence
      O! God has made me dumb.

    Thy goodness is so wide, a thing
      Beat, for me slower time.
    I cannot sing so great a song
      In one short life like mine.




        Sweet Distress


    I have known the beauty
    Of a firegold west.
    And from the hurt in rainsong
    I shall never rest.

    I heard the water running
    From a green hill’s crest,
    But what is sweet in sorrow
    Hearts remember best.




        The Chastening


    I see thee now thine innocence
    Writ on thy soul’s clear skies.
    Thy laughter loving mouth
    Thy love provoking eyes.

    I mark thy soft girl fairness
    Thy strong young body’s grace,
    The woman soul that I have nursed
    Dawning behind thy face.

    I note with fear thy heedless
    And unchided turbulence.
    Unfaltering faith in life and love
    Thine air of confidence.

    And then I see as seers might see
    Even as one’s own God.
    Thy straight, slim youthfulness
    Bend to the chastening rod.

    I writhe to think I may not bear
    The blows, for thine own sake
    I can not, tho’ ’tis mine to know
    How one small heart can ache.

    In the winds of thy fierce breaking
    God grant I never see
    Thy flashing spirit sullen,
    Or thy lips in mutiny.

    But rather child, I’d have thee know
    Even as I the rod,
    As a tuning fork to bring thy song
    Back to the harp of God.




        The Four Winds of Heaven


    When I hear the north wind
      It never fails to bring,
    Reminders of for-get-me-nots
      And sunny days in spring.

    And O! the east wind carries
      Upon its scented sail,
    The tho’t of pink arbutus
      In some secluded vale.

    And how I’d like to gather
      When winds are in the west,
    A brace of orange blossoms
      To hold against my breast.

    But O! I love the south wind
      That breathes across the loam,
    For O! the tender south wind
      Just whispers dear “come home!”




        Friend


    Last night when I was watching shadows lengthen
      From twilight into deeper, darker lines,
    The lazy river caught my little boat dear,
      And swept it in among the clinging vines.

    And somehow in the mirror of the current
      I saw your kindly face look back at me.
    Then I reached my eager hands toward you
      As one would do to friends across the sea.

    Friend O! mine, don’t think that I’ve forgotten,
      Tho’ parted now by many a weary mile.
    In every little pool I see reflected,
      Your eyes forever tender with a smile

    And someday when GOD calls me from my dreaming
      And draws me from life’s loneliness apart,
    I’ll carry all these things that I remember--
      About you, up to heaven in my heart.




        Humility


    I have come a long way
      Over sea and sod.
    I found nothing small as me,
      Nothing great as GOD.

    God has in his keeping
      Eternities of time.
    He hears worlds of trouble
      But, gives ear to mine.

    He sways stars and planets,
      “Keeps the keys of death.”
    But in his loving kindness
      Paused to give me breath.

    I have seen a mountain
      Sweet flowers, a bird, a tree.
    God has lovely children
      Dare he look on me?




        Shadows


    I sat with dreams and mated them with shadows
    Where sunlight flecked the grass and trickled thru
    Each swaying twig and branch of spruce and elder
    Adoringly, they somehow spoke of you.

    I sat tense-eyed, my longing vision sensing,
    An unseen, art-wise hand begin to trace.
    With all love’s magic trickery displaying
    To me; your hair, your pallid waiting face.

    In all these voiceless years of night and grieving
    Above thy grave I grasp this gleam of grace.
    Perhaps sometime, where is no pain or parting
    I’ll smile again into your waiting face.




        Two Roads


    There are two roads near Joppa town
      And here I doubting stood,
    For one went winding round the hill
      The other thru the wood.

    And if I took the winding road
      ’Twould lead me thru the mall,
    Of noise and gossipers for which
      I have no heart at all.

    Sweet briar nodded from the hill,
      The blue bells from the shade.
    A purple finch decided me,
      So in the wood I stayed.

    A brooding bird and restless young,
      Began to chide and fret.
    And wonder in bird fashion what
      I ever came to get.

    A green snake ran across my path
      Its eyes were jewel small.
    A flying squirrel left a tree,
      That seemed ten paces tall.

    I picked a fern that had uncurled
      Itself from out the ground.
    And O! the wood delighted me,
      The way it stood around.

    And there were holy moments when
      My very soul went still.
    And sad I was for folks who took
      The road around the hill.

    And when I left the sancted place,
      My arms were loaded down.
    It cost me not one pang to shun,
      The road to Joppa town.




        The Reason


    When I was but a little girl
      Mere flotsam on life’s sea,
    Because of youth a lovely rose
      Meant, just a rose to me.

    Before I knew that love was life,
      And life were all of love.
    The sky was only atmosphere
      And God frowned up above.

    But now I am a woman grown
      And know love tenderly,
    I can not tell you dear how much
      God’s roses mean to me.




        When June Comes


    When June comes back again I’ll sit
    Away back from the road and dip
    My face and arms in clover blooms,
    And drink my fill of their perfumes,
    And steep myself in one great gleam
    Of sunlight, and I’ll dream,
                      And dream,
                                      And dream.

    I’ll lean back in the grass and sigh
    And look love at the blue, blue sky.
    Until my senses reel and reel,
    Like elm tree branches and a feel--
    Of drowsiness oozes between,
    My eyelids, while I dream,
                      And dream,
                                      And dream.

    A lethargy binds tongue and lips,
      And creeps down to my fingertips.
      Troubles, cares and everything,
      Float out past my remembering.
    And all the world is one great beam
    Of gladness, while I dream,
                      And dream,
                                      And dream.




        Through Loving Eyes


    Like a careless child in the drifts it stood
    Against the darkness of the wood,
    Even the path was not cut through
    Up to the door it led you to.
    Beauty untarnished, but never a sound
    Save for the whispering trees around.
    Its shining eyes on the cold world shone
    Warm and bright from its snowy comb.
    Cheer was the word the blue fume wrote
    As it cleared itself from the chimney’s throat.
    The drifts that lay on the tent like sheds
    Were like the covers of untouched beds.
    A great white garment of snow and frost
    Was laid on the fence, but the hedge was lost.
    A-while away the home garden park
    Divides itself from the woods soft dark.
    Dear God I said, you had meant to please
    When giving man such gifts as these.




        Worship


    I did not always know ’twas kind
      Of thee to let me pass,
    And with my sacrilegious feet
      Walk lightly thru thy grass.

    How could I know, when I was young
      ’Twas one of thine own dreams,
    To tender me the license of
      Thy hills and singing streams.

    How could’st thou take even a part
      Of thy remotest time,
    And weld me, poor unworthly link,
      Into this chain of thine.

    One day I learned at cost of pain
      Among the shadows dim,
    Thy gift of violets, Oh! God
      Their fragrance cutting in.

    I set apart one hallowed day
      Forever dear to me.
    Because thou taughtest me to love
      A flowering apple tree.

    And since I’ve older grown and drawn
      To solitudes apart,
    I find I cannot tell the Lord
      All that is in my heart.




        Evermore


      Then I go on from here I’ll take
    The ever pleasant memory of a lake.
    I’ll tightly lock within my spirit breast
    The picture of a grim old mountain’s crest.

    A little stream’s song running ever clear
    And all the lonely places I hold dear.
    A mocking bird, a drenched and dripping tree.
    O! I shall keep my hunger for the sea.

    I shall keep my knowledge of the paths I know
    The gates of many mornings and the glow,
    Of sunset, on a firegold window pane,
    The mist on young nasturtiums after rain.

    Virginia creeper on some quaint old garden wall
    The sound of dropping nuts, I’ll take them all.
    The falling leaves, the closing of the year,
    I’ll not forget, tho’ I go on from here.

    These tho’ts I shall retain (e’en past the gates of death),
    Of burnished autumn leaves, a tiny baby’s breath.
    In my heart I’ll take the Heaven’s most untried height
    A moon drowned flower, from some star riven night.

    I shall remember thru great ages of GOD’S time
    The wind in clover, rain in summer time.
    Think you I could forget, thru death’s wild fret and pain
    The look of slim young birches in the rain?




        A City Guest


    The wonder never went out of her eyes
    When she saw the sweep of our wide blue skies,
    The things we farmers forget in the pain
    Of sowing and planting and reaping again.

    Things taken for granted loose the touch
    Of newness and dazzle we love so much.
    While she, soft-eyed and with shining face,
    Found pleasure in all things about the place.

    She gathered the flowers in wind and rain
    That we called common and tho’t real plain.
    From the sweep of our lawn to the poppy bed
    Flaunting their colors about her head.

    Till we ourselves looked with glad new eyes
    On an old, old setting, but a new sunrise.
    Cold grey days she would rise and sing
    For she found beauty in everything.

    Will she ever know in the city street
    How we think of her when the snow and sleet,
    Make houses enjoyable things to own,
    How often we mention her name at home?

    Can she ever know with her warm flower heart,
    How she gave us back what we lost in part.
    How the thought of her when it’s cold with rain,
    Fills the house and the halls, with herself again.




        Reminders


    The sun, the wind, and rain
    The trees, the flowers and skies,
    A grosbeak’s note
    From its flaming throat
    And my bosom is tossed with sighs.

    Eyebeams and locks of hair
    The curve of a white cheek near,
    Each day of the week
    Filled full of the sweet
    Reminders of you, my dear.

    The crowd and the city street,
    A hill that is bleak and bare.
    A fleecy cloud
    Floating high and proud
    And I think of my darling’s hair.

    A voice that is strangely like
    Your own that I turn to see;
    A silvery laugh,
    Convincing me half
    My dreams have been fooling me.




        Soul


    Because,
      There never was a voice on earth
      Could soothe its harrowings,
      That’s why these souls God gave to us
      Are always lonely things.

    Because,
      Life is so short, and death so sure,
      And worlds uncertain things,
      And time so fleet and heaven so high
      Souls have such restless wings.

    Because,
      ’Twas fashioned in the heavenly realm
      Of God’s creative schemes,
      That’s why a soul goes hungrily
      From dream to shining dream.




        Farewell


    When you are twining wreaths of rose and columbine
      To soften outlines of a tomb too new,
    Remember, spring makes little tents all green and cool
      For soldier boys this old world never knew.

    When spring comes tripping down the lane once more
      And children bring you violets of blue,
    When your tender heart is strained, beyond the breaking
      Let this be my farewell, dear heart, to you.

    When spring comes romping, singing, back again,
      Dressed in her garments fragrant, fresh and new;
    When once more robins sing among the budding trees
      All honey sweet, with apple blooms and dew.

    When you have searched the woods as once you did
      For specimens of moss and long, dank fern,
    Remember, that I too have loved the flowers
      But, look no more, no more for my return.




        Rainbow Ribbons


    Bring me rainbow ribbons
    And a band of blue,
    Bring me threads of silver
    From the moonbeams’ hue.
    Bring a pure cloud fleecy,
    Snatch a sunbeam bright,
    Tints from twilight evenings,
    Matchless and just right,
    To mate with all her beauty.
    These amassed will make the dreams
    Tender, pure and holy
    Of a girl just turned thirteen.

    Bring me rainbow ribbons
    From the sunset too
    Then a white tho’t from the angels
    Who are holding hands with you.
    Bring the rosebud’s fragrance
    And the apple blossom’s bloom
    The hushed voice from the morning
    Then leave a little room,
    For a thousand transient colors
    From a God’s infinite dream
    And you’ll have the soul and fancies
    Of a girl just turned thirteen.




        My Neighbor’s Roses


    My neighbor’s roses always grow
    In such a tantalizing row,
    Of fragrance and perfume,
    A riotous mass of twilight bloom.
    And I am tempted oftentimes
    When walking where the stray ones climb,
    To reach my willing hands out so
    And clasp each crimson, flaming glow.
    A breeze steals softly thru the day
    And brushes them too far away.

    Christ! make me kind enough to give
    Of roses while my friends yet live.
    And if they reach their eager hands,
    To where my flowers with clinging bands,
    Are nodding, tempting, from the row.
    Oh! Christ I pray let breezes blow
    A thousand fragrant, tender charms
    Into my neighbor’s outstretched arms.
    Then keep my burning heart and tho’t,
    Tender enough to stay them not.




        The Long Twilight


    When “Pop” is bald, and my hair is white,
    And the stage is set, for a long twilight;
    When we are alone in our little den
    He with his pipe and I with my pen,
    ’Twill not be regrets that make us sigh
    For we will have things that the world can’t buy.
    For we have snatched from the mirth mad throng
    A little of love and a deathless song.
    A few glad dreams and our tho’ts all white,
    The silence of God, in the long twilight.

    When “Pop” is bald and my hair is white,
    And we’re nearing the end of the long twilight,
    ’Twill not seem cold in the darksome wood
    For we have been friends with solitude.
    And often yearned in the shadows cold
    For the friendly smiles the gods withold.
    Hearts all the braver for the feel of pain,
    For a rose grows sweeter every time it rains.

    A few glad notes from a comrade’s song
    We’ll sing in the night as we go along.
    For we carry the blossoms a frost ne’er blights
    And we’ll have no morning till we’ve said goodnight.




        A Lone Walk


    When I had left the city street
    And lost the open road,
    I breathed contentedly and deep
    As one who shifts a load.
    I wasn’t caring where I went
    Or where I meant to go.
    But I was tossing from my path
    The brown leaves drifted so.

    When I was wondering aimlessly
    Just what my quest would bring.
    I saw a pink arbutus bloom
    And heard a warbler sing.
    The sky seemed blue and higher here
    Than it was back in town.
    And Oh! the wind delighted me,
    The way it blew around.

    And then I sought the grey glen road.
    Went with it thru the wood.
    And in its long green isles I walked
    And worshipfully stood.
    My neighbor questioned from the fence
    What I had seen out there?
    I said I sought adventure
    And I found it everywhere.




        A Death Blow


    He said goodbye, you hobbled out,
      The Doctor shut the door.
    From your face I knew he’d told you
      Things we had guessed before.

    I saw you slightly tremble
      But I reached you ere you fell.
    Your fixèd face said many things
      More than you cared to tell.

    One does not receive death warrants
      As one would a courtesy.
    After awhile your head went up
      And you talked it all out with me.

    Brave little woman I knew you
      Knew you were never afraid.
    Not for yourself, You forbid me--
      To speak and my questions you staid.

    All I could give was silence.
      Your pride forbade me much.
    Tho’ I longed to bear your burden
      Even to be your crutch.




        The Breath of Life


    I’d like to lift the threads of life
      And weave them on a loom
    And make a pattern beautiful,
      As any day in June.

    I’d put ten thousand violets
      And shimmering leaves of green,
    Around the edge and over it,
      To hide each vulgar seam.

    Because, death brushed me with dark wings,
      Reluctant passed me by,
    I take the threads of life again
      And weave and smile and sigh.

    But if I had a God-like power
      Omnipotence of mind,
    To put the tho’t of suffering
      And death a league behind.

    Life would be violets to me
      Much sweeter than a dream.
    The pattern on my loom would show
      No raw and ghastly seam.

    But then methinks it is because
      Of what the looms disclose.
    The breath of life is sweeter
      Than the fragrance of a rose.




        A Day in Spring


    Go slow, O! day immaculate;
    Much slower than the rest.
    Master of time, mark every hour
    As tho’ thou were not pressed,--
    Or hurried. But more leisurely
    And gently let them chime.
    Oh! morn, take off thy wings of speed
    And let this day be mine.

    O! day, immaculate and kind,
    Make no rude haste or speed.
    But loiter in less trodden paths
    Walk lightly o’er the mead.
    Spring and I are holding hands
    On a green hill’s dazzling crest.
    Make this day, God, go very slow
    More slowly than the rest.




        Autumn


    I see you now, your autumn gown
      In wanton fashion hung,
    Your crimson scarf half rakishly,
      To trifling breezes flung.

    I was distressed and sad to think
      You did not even care.
    But once your harp sang low and sweet
      You breathed a solemn prayer.

    You sang soft broken numbers
      Sad as your soul’s distress,
    And I loved you no matter how wanton
      Or scarlet or scanty your dress.




        Little Girl


    From out the calendar of time
      Grant me one glorious day.
    And let me follow singing streams,
      So cool with tossing spray.
    And riot in their pebbled beds
      Where willows bend and swirl
    Their giddy heads, as once they did
      When I was, “little girl.”

    And let me feel again the clutch
      One gets down in the throat
    From long admiring, silent things
      Faint sounds and clouds afloat.
    Let afternoon slip languidly,
      Tree branches bend and twirl
    Adoringly: as once they did
      When I was “little girl.”

    Give me one riotous unbound day
      To climb a dizzy hill.
    Waist deep in laurel, where wood birds
      Gyrate and mock and trill.
    Where even timid walkers’ steps
      Unloose great rocks that hurl,
    Delightedly, to depths I feared
      When I was “little girl.”

    Grant me one free unbounded day
      Wherein I may explore,
    The land where dream folks’ houses shed
      Moon dazzle from the door.
    Oh! riotous day detain my steps
      Clasp me from this mist whirl
    And let me live the dreams I dreamed
      When I was “little girl.”




        My Old House and the Weather


    I grow so very weary
    Of the city’s crowded street
    The babbling of voices
    The restlessness of feet.
    I often wish my friends would talk
    Less dexterous and less clever,
    And let me say a word about
    My old house and the weather.

    I long to stop those restless feet
    And if I only could,
    I’d still their babbling tongues awhile
    With back-home quietude.
    I long to let them know about
    Birches that stand together,
    And the hand that threw the blooms around
    My old house and the weather.

    But as it is I only take
    Mere twigs of it to town,
    The lilacs when they’re on the bush
    And roses tumbling round.
    But folks forget so hurriedly
    And talk of fuss and feather,
    I think they’d best come out and
    My old house and the weather.




        Bluestone River, W. Va.


    Sometime in my day dreaming
    Thru’ my half-lidded eyes,
    I’m seeing old Virginia
    And Old Virginia skies.
    The narrow, crooked roadway,
    The path by which we came,
    And then I see the river,
    Bluestone river, in the rain.

    Then there’s the drooping willows
    Swaying, swirling, side by side.
    And the hollyhocks keep nodding
    To each other in the tide.
    And the mists we love o’ mornings
    Puts our dropping tears to shame.
    When we see it clear the river,
    Bluestone river, in the rain.

    And there’s the little homestead
    Just across the running stream,
    It beckons from the mountain
    Like a kind hand in a dream.
    A soft, mellow light is breaking
    From each golden window pane,
    And it shines down on the river,
    Bluestone river, in the rain.




        Sea Hunger


    I’ve languished under many moons
      And loved them all. Ah me!
    But now my heart is filled too full
      Of hunger for the sea.

    When thinking of the white gulls
      That ride the creamy foam,
    I almost hear the brave winds
      O’er singing seas at home.

    And when I think of white mists
      That rise from shore to shore,
    In utter weariness I weep
      But cannot see them more.

    And some day when I leave my dreams
      These tides in which I’ve striven,
    I’ll lock their memories in my breast
      And carry them to heaven.




        Tree Sounds


    The forest closed and folded
      About me like a tent.
    The tree tops swayed and toppled
      Rain riven and wind-rent.

    The old harp in the pine trees
      Struck cords minor and deep.
    So in the storm tossed forest
      I was rocked to sleep.

    That was long ago, O’ ages,
      Yet thru these rushing years,
    The sounds of a wind rent forest
      Is ever in my ears.




        A Wish


    They called me girl, gave me the name
      Of one I’ll never see.
    I wish they’d given me instead
      The name of some nice tree.

    A tree that rocks with every wind,
      Fast rooted in the ground,
    Straining its eager branches up
      To where God’s looking down.

    A neighbor to the grass and flowers.
      A friend to all the skies,
    A lovely tree that dares to romp
      With every bird that flies.

    A spruce, an elm, a tamarack;
      Dear heaven, how can there be
    A lovelier name, and how I wish
      They’d given one to me.




        Middle Creek, W. Va.


    I have a longing for a hill
      A passion for small streams.
    And there’s a creek that winds itself
      Among my muted dreams.

    A tumbling stream, you know the kind,
      With water running clear,
    Where birds might bathe between its songs
      And pilgrims hover near.

    It twines itself, love-fashion, round
      A flowering tree, then worms--
    And oozes in between the roots,
      Of sycamores and ferns.

    Petals float down and mingle with
      Ribbons of grass while I
    Am conscious that I am dreaming,
      And writing while I sigh.




        Endie


    I like to visit Endie’s house
    She’s like a dream herself,
    She has the books I know and love
    Upon her reading shelf.
    And when I go to her we talk
    About the clouds and wind,
    And if I drop from clouds to clods
    Why; Endie doesn’t mind.
    I like the streams, the singing ones,
    But Endie likes a fall;
    And if I disagee with her
    She doesn’t mind at all.

    Endie has a thousand things
    To plant in one small space;
    When I find it can’t be done
    Regret is in her face.
    She often says O! dare we plant,
    Narcissus in a row?
    But she agrees and I agree
    Where hollyhocks should grow.
    I only need to mention tea
    And Endie’s soft eyes shine.
    And then she talks; her language flows
    More eloquent than mine.
    Once ambition burned my breast
    Endie, too, was fired.
    But here is where I stop to rest
    For Endie’s getting tired.




        In Our Old Street


    We children played in a queer old street
      That persistently seemed to hide,
    Itself and us in a kindly way
      From the great wide world outside.

    And how we loved in our childishness
      God’s work on the sea and land.
    But death was secretive, dark and deep,
      And never showed us his hand.

    With awe we gazed on his work, sad work
      And the flutter of ribbons white,
    Made us all catch hands, hold our breath and sob
      In our restless dreams at night.

    When a baby came to our queer old street
      So downy and vague and new,
    We tiptoed out of the soft, dark room,
      And the mystery grew and grew.

    But many things we have learned since then
      For life has a strange sad way,
    We left the hills and the queer old street
      Where we used to shout and play.

    One of the things we have learned is this:
      Tho’ death rides around rough shod,
    Back of our births and our deaths and our loves
      Is the all-kind heart of GOD.




        Honey


    His eyes were wide and large and bright
      As shining drops of dew,
    In which two violets had drowned
      Themselves and made them blue.

    His lips were O! so soft to kiss
      His smile was quaint and funny;
    Couldn’t think of any name
      To call him only Honey.

    No one ever tho’t that I
      Was his sister Sue.
    For my eyes were just as black
      As his eyes were blue.

    And my hair was like a crow
      His so golden sunny.
    Father ridicules the name
      But keeps on saying Honey.




        Moon Dazzle


    Last night, as tho’ with new washed eyes
      I looked upon a lake.
    Something within me sharply stirred
      An understanding ache.

    An ardent willow swayed and dipped
      The cool depths of lagoon.
    Unstirred miles of grass and dew
      Lay lonely to the moon.

    It seemed I’d never seen a night
      Or such a scene before.
    The moonbeams stretched a splintered path
      From shore to shadowed shore.

    I marveled thus, and wondered how
      In unveiled hours to come,
    Could such a pulseless thing like death
      Make one so eager, dumb.




        To Friends


    Last night, when I was wearied to my soul,
      I was slipping out to dreamland very fast.
    When I tho’t about you, and the things you did,
      The help you gave, for which I did not ask.

    Your unselfishness and kind deeds true,
      Kept coming up before me like a scroll.
    I could not count the many things you did,
      For me, when I was sick, in body and in soul.

    My undeserving self grew very, very tired.
      With all the counting of them, and I slept.
    But, ’twas just to dream again of all these things,
      And in my restless sleep, I wept, and wept, and wept.




        To a Meadow Lark


    And when I saw him stamping over
    My little patch of shrubs and clover,
    His steel bright gun held shoulder high
    I scarce could check, a smothered cry.

    Because I knew your nest was low
    So shuddered when I saw him go.
    A gunshot and I scarce could see
    You had flown screaming to a tree.

    O little bird with troubled breast,
    A miracle has saved your nest.
    I’m sorry you were frightened so,
    You should not build your nest so low.




        Broken Numbers


    A mystery puzzled and vexed me,
      Unsolvable, strange and deep.
    Perplexed and worn out in spirit
      It followed me into my sleep.
    Then with eyes that were heavy with dreaming
      I drifted from darkness to dawn.
    For the raindrops scattered my shadows
      With numbers of broken song.

    I thought of the heavy mystery
      That troubled me yesterday,
    It seemed I never could solve it
      Or drive it completely away.
    And I thought of the thousands of moments
      When each, to oneself stands alone,
    Thrown back on oneself for the answer
      The answer that never comes home.

    As I pondered each sad broken number
      The raindrops made on the pane,
    The shine came to me, came in bundles,
      For I heard the song in the rain.
    Shine is a guest we have often
      Grief being seldom is great.
    I have no quarrel with mystery
      I have no quarrel with fate.




        I’m Going Out


    I’m going out where breezes blowing round
    Make trim kept acres look half country and half town.
    Where March winds tossed and blew the leaves away
    Into the fences corner yesterday.
    Oaks that never dropt last summer’s leaves at all
    Were coaxed at last today to leave them fall.
    I’m going out to this street’s very end,
    Where city atmosphere and country spaces blend,
    And hear the whirring wings of lonely larks,
    That circle like burnt embers o’er the park.

    I’ll have my hair in torrents blowing wild
    About my pallid features like some child,
    That had its romping days of childish fun
    Most strangled e’er they ever had begun.
    I’d like to walk around a field that’s barr’d
    From other pleasant places winter scarr’d.
    Where drifts have filled the corners there I know
    Is still a faint suggestion of late snow.
    So when your luncheon hour and mine comes round,
    I will have gone beyond the edge of town.




        Ingleside


    The road that goes to Ingleside
      Can’t be described at all,
    ’Tis sweet beyond the telling
      And the trees are paces tall.

    Spring o’ year at Ingleside
      Is pungent sweet of breath.
    And for its rainfilled, tumbling streams
      I’m homesick unto death.

    Confusing flowers fill the wood
      Like nodding plumes of flame.
    The like of which one’s never seen
      And no one knows the name.

    The hills that look on Ingleside
      Are emerald to the brow.
    And I would give a thousand dreams
      If I could see them now.




        Friendship


    Once on a time there was a road
      Went winding by my door.
    And fain I was to travel it
      In search of golden store.

    And O! how oft with heavy heart
      The weary miles I trod,
    And many a sorry tale I learned
      Upon the open road.

    Often times I was made glad
      And oft my heart was sore.
    For folk who traveled on the road
      That winded by my door.

    Adventure came, aye many a time,
      And even now I sigh.
    And sorry am to count the times
      The false gods caught my eye.

    But now I keep a little spot
      Just off the busy road,
    And there I patient, wise-eyed wait
      Those of the heavy load.

    And kindly then I draw them in
      While warm heart talks to heart.
    And when night darkens I have found
      We’re sorry for to part.

    This happened too once on a time
      When I was weak and sore.
    I drew a jewel from the road
      That winded by my door.

    But then I very often find
      Two roads so different meet,
    And many a friend I’ve found and kept
      For whom I did not seek.




        This Year


    This year’s breezes gently toss
    A fern uncurling from the moss;
    Arbutus trailing lengths along;
    Brown thrush thrilling with his song.
    The grosbeak sings a song of cheer,
    “Ain’t” things beautiful this year?

    The dandelions are here again
    Amongst the grass like golden rain.
    A hawthorn raining petals white,
    Whilst dripping with the dews of night.
    A mocker’s notes, round, sweet and clear.
    “Ain’t” things beautiful this year?

    So thankful that old winter’s gone
    Fond hearts beat a tender song.
    The meadow lark in circles high,
    Sings songs of faith against the sky.
    While in my heart I greatly fear,
    Things are too beautiful this year.




        Spring Walkers


    Isn’t there just a hint in the air
    That spring’s hiding out in the garden somewhere?
    Remember the place where the violets grew?
    Let’s all go and see if they’ve been stirring too.
    That sounded like wings, O! look it’s a bird.
    How did he know that the mosses had stirred.
    Before we can really think it is spring
    He’s here on his faith, and started to sing.
    Someone’s been here, the leaves have been tossed
    As if one were looking for things that were lost.
    And ruthlessly left to the late April snow
    The pale slender necks of the first buds below.
    Let’s cover them up, it doesn’t seem fair
    To leave them like this, see that birch over there?
    We’ll remember the place and come back again,
    When the sun is some warmer, and there’s been a rain.
    Let’s walk thru the wood, and come back this way
    I dislike to go home, I wish it were May.
    Here’s a place I adore, this tender dark wood.
    It’s a source of delight, and if one only could
    Just come here and visit awhile every day,
    ’Twould charm every heartache one has quite away.
    This path has surprises at every bend.
    This log has been here since I can’t tell you when.
    We just walk around or climb over this way,
    ’Twould spoil the whole scene if they took it away.
    This tree has been tired standing up long ago
    ’Twas March, the old roughneck, gave it the last blow.
    It looks like a man-contrived arch o’er a drive,
    The vines will cling round it and keep it alive.
    I’m tired. Let’s go back, we’ve come a long way
    I dislike to go home, I wish it were May.




        Winter Woods


    Would you like to walk to Elm Court
      Now that winter’s here?
    Yes it is a little chilly,
      But you’ll like it, never fear.
    I’d like to see that little path,
     The one you sketched, you know,
    After last night’s storm it surely
      Must be rimmed around with snow.
    The grey grouse slept I’m certain
      Beneath the patches white,
    The hills protrude a dazzling crest
      Into the dawn’s cold light.
    If attempts were made to climb
      Up to its softened blue,
    Every time we stepped up one
      We’d slip back more than two.
    But now, we’ll just go thru this woods
      And this deep snow, my dear,
    Will make a worth while picture
      For it’s beautiful this year.
    Let us plow thru this deep snow drift
      To that small half frozen stream,
    We’ll see nicer ferns I’ll wager
      Than a summer’s ever seen.
    Ferns in winter? yes there’s plenty.
      Will you only just look here
    How frost fashions from plain water
      Things so beautiful and queer.
    Wait awhile! here’s beauty,
      This stream bank’s frozen dirt
    Boasts an edge as sweet and dainty
      As a lady’s underskirt.
    In summer this is lovely
      But old winter has its charms
    When these tender little trees stand round
      With ice clothes on their arms.
    It’s very quiet, but lonely never,
      You can push these twigs apart
    And in the softened stillness
      Almost feel and hear God’s heart.
    And one may feel this darkness
      Like soft velvet one unrolls,
    Its very quiet is soothing,
      To a city weary soul.
    See these bushes! all the edges
      Have a perfect picot hem,
    Like women’s restless fingers
      Had picked up now and then.
    We must find the pathway back
      When the sun comes stealing thru,
    Like old magic, all these wonders
      Will be dripping from our view.
    I prefer to keep this picture
      Just as we have seen it here,
    This lovely morning, to my fancy
      Is too beautiful, I fear.




        Brother O’ Mine


    Do you remember the cardinal’s call,
                Brother O’ mine?
    The hills that we climbed, be they ever so tall,
    With never a fear for a hurt or a fall,
    Wondering ever if skies did fall,
                Brother O’ mine.

    Many a hill we’ve climbed since then,
                Brother O’ mine.
    Been pelted with roses and rinsed with the rain
    Of our sorrowing teardrops time and again;
    Despair in our hearts and a clutch of pain,
                Brother O’ mine.

    And there were pebbles that hurt our feet
                Brother O’ mine.
    But the dust of the highway seemed velvet sweet
    Tho’ many a cross and trials we’d meet,
    With daisies and graves at our very feet,
                Brother O’ mine.

    Father we had in the bygone days,
                Brother O’ mine.
    And mother to wipe all our tears away.
    Tho’ sodden the sky, and shadows be grey
    God will speak clear of the mist some day,
                Brother O’ mine.




        Dream


    The flowers upon my lady’s hat,
    Kept bobbing so this way then that,
    Until the Church seemed faint and blurred
    The morning Psalms I scarcely heard.
    Unless I see I cannot hear,
    So, I just admired that flower so near.
    ’Twas unlike any bloom that blows
    On trees or waves in garden rows,
    Where clings the morning glory vine
    Or beds of phlox or columbine,
    Like nothing in the drowsy south
    With love songs oozing from its mouth,
    In all the languorous, summer noons
    Or riotous breaths of all perfumes,
    Like nothing in my garden bed
    Of flowers washed blue or drenched red;
    Peculiarly designed it sat
    And nodded on my lady’s hat.
    I summoned all my powers to wit
    But could not find a name for it.

    I sought my couch with troubled breast,
    I could not from my memory wrest
    The name of that tormenting bloom,
    Till wearied tossing, then I swooned
    Into forgetfulness and dreamed
    Of lands beyond where sunlight streamed,
    In gardens where an angel talked
    In soft glad whispers as he walked.
    And touched each blossoming bud and bell
    With pride and love ineffable.
    But one he loved beyond compare;
    He stooped and kissed the petals rare.
    With eagerness I did persist
    To see the flower the angel kissed.
    And there it grew a thing intact,
    The flower upon my lady’s hat.
    It stood a straight slim tossing flame
    And I had yet to learn its name.
    With this in mind I tried to talk,
    But the angel only sped his walk.
    I could have cried for very shame,
    Then someone called me by my name.
    The room was pink with morning light,
    Because dreams vanish with the night;
    And things are not what they seem,
    I called the little flower “dream.”




        Shine and Shower


    It’s the cross that makes the triumph
      A glorious thing to share,
    It’s the sweet behind the bitter
      Makes the burden light to bear.
    It’s the shine past all the raining
      Of the heart-break and the tear,
    It’s the faith in dim tomorrow’s
      Clears the mist from yesteryears.

    So I’ll take my shine and shower
      The bitter with the sweet,
    And I’ll make a friend of sorrow
      Every time we chance to meet.
    Give me triumph with disaster
      And my share of gain and loss
    And I’ll not be asking angels
      For a sweeter, gentler cross.




        Lines to Death


    The harp like strings of destiny
      Stretched taut awhile, then broke,
    So life gives o’er the battle
      To death’s relentless stroke.

    What’s wealth with all its glitter
      When the sands of life are spent?
    It cannot unfold the curtain
      Of that solitary tent.

    Fame is just a tempting bauble
      That comes when least we call,
    And fate stands thus dividing
      Rain and roses ’mongst us all.

    Life is just a few short summers,
      Breath of roses and a prayer.
    Then a little tent to sleep in
      When we grow too tired to care.

    The high, the low, the haughty,
      The humble, too, meet here.
    And share like common brothers
      The sorrow and the tear.

    But life must have its raining
      For the master wills it so;
    And broken harps are mended,
      After death has struck the blow.




        To the New Year


    This morning when I saw you
    Looking into my bedroom window,
    I thought that I disliked you very much,
    For all I could see
    You very much resembled other days
    Spotless and so wholesome,
    With all your tinsel bright,
    But, your beauty touched me not at all.
    But I decided to put up with you
    As one would with strange, unwelcome guests.
    I turned you around and about many, many times,
    As a child would a new toy.
    You were a lovely sight,
    And yet I felt a bit depressed,
    Till of a sudden I thought
    I saw you smile.
    Or was it only fancy?
    Then I gave you my profoundest thought
    For a short while.
    And way down in your remotest depths
    Great possibilities looked out at me,
    And I thought of all the things you might do
    For this restless world.
    So I fell in love with you,
    Before you were a half hour old.




        Homesickness


    The folks whom we visit, but once in a while
      Those friends who are far, far away,
    May be thoughtful and generous indeed to a fault
      And kindness itself every day.
    Not even the hills with the mist on the top
      And the sun shooting flames ’cross the loam,
    Can make me forget, nor still the wild fret
      In my heart for the place I call home.

    The valleys like Eden are misty and deep:
      They are washed with the dews of the morn.
    They but serve to depress me and make me a prey
      To longings both sad and forlorn.
    The lilt of the trees and the song of the birds
      Once so cheery have sobered their tone,
    For my heartstrings are tied, to a little fireside
      In a place that I love to call home.




        To Love


    Tho’ I am slow of speech, it matters not,
      For this I know you feel and understand.
    Tho’ break I at your nearness, yet I draw apart,
      With wonder at the touches of your hand.

    Your eager eyes, so near my drooping lids
      Appraise my flushes, and you understand
    How fain I am to go, yet do draw near,
      And tremble at the touches of your hands.

    Tho’ death should come and seal my eyelids shut,
      And tho’ I tremble at his cold commands,
    I could be drawn away e’en from the tomb, methinks
      If then, dear, you would touch me with your hands.




        Your Friend


    Tho’ you’re a heathen to the core
      And cause him untold pain,
    He knows everything about you
      But loves you just the same.

    You need not always seek him
      For he’s often seeking you.
    He has a welcome for the stranger
      But a warmer heart for you.

    He is rather scarce on talking
      But at listening he is good.
    You love to be around him
      But respect his solicitude.

    He is tactful of your failings,
      Well acquainted with your whim;
    And there’s nothing in this wide, wide world
      You would not do for him.




        Draw Closer to the Fire


    The summer sweets have faded,
      The hedge, the vine, and briar,
    Come, put your hand in mine, my friend,
      Draw closer to the fire.

    From footstools let us view the heights
      To which great minds aspire;
    Here’s Riley, Keats and Emerson,
      Draw closer to the fire.

    A brave refrain from unknown bards
      And Byron’s brave satire,
    Frank Stanton’s tears and tenderness,
      Draw closer to the fire.

    Tho’ cold the winds and fierce the blast,
      And thwarted our heart’s desire,
    We’ve Robert Frost to cheer the hearth,
      Draw closer to the fire.

    Give me your hand, my steadfast friend;
      The words that friends require
    Stay with me thru the dying year,
      Draw closer to the fire.




        What Love Is


    Love is a magnetism
    That enables two people
    To see one another as
    No one else can see them,
    A compelling unresisting element
    Drawing them into each other’s arms.
    Love is an unselfish devotion,
    Giving service without reward,
    Sacrifice without compensation,
    Suffering without alleviation.
    It is a power, a force,
    The fundamental principle of life,
    Without which, the mere act of living
    Becomes a farce and a mockery.
    Love is the foundation of every
    Unselfish act, in this grey old world.
    It is the rosy amber hearthstone
    Of earth’s flaming paradise, and
    A stepping stone to a better world called heaven.





End of Project Gutenberg's Rain and roses, by Jeannette Fraser Henshall