THE ANSWERING VOICE

    ONE HUNDRED LOVE LYRICS BY WOMEN




    THE ANSWERING VOICE

    ONE HUNDRED LOVE LYRICS
    BY WOMEN

    SELECTED BY
    SARA TEASDALE

    AUTHOR OF “RIVERS TO THE SEA,” “HELEN OF
    TROY, AND OTHER POEMS,” ETC.

    [Illustration]


    BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
    HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
    The Riverside Press Cambridge
    1917




    COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY SARA TEASDALE FILSINGER

    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


    _Published September 1917_




    THE HAPPY LABOR

    OF SELECTING THESE POEMS

    I DEDICATE TO

    MY SISTER


    Ἔρος δαὔτέ μ᾽ ὀ λυσιμέλης δόνει
    γλυκύπικρον ἀμάχανον ὄρπετον.

    “_Ο gods, what love, what yearnings contributed to this._”




PREFATORY NOTE


I have tried to bring together in this book the most beautiful
love-lyrics written in English by women since the middle of the last
century. During this period, for the first time in the history of
English literature, the work of women has compared favorably with that
of men; and in no other field have they done such noteworthy work as
in poetry. Before this period, for reasons well known to the student
of feminism, sincere love poems by women were very rare in England and
America. With the exception of Lady Barnard’s “Auld Robin Gray” and a
poem by Susanna Blamire, I have found nothing that seemed worthy of
inclusion.

In most cases the finest utterance of women poets has been on love, so
that this book is, I venture to hope, a golden treasury of lyrics by
women.

I have included no long poems, and no translations, and I have avoided
poems in which the poet dramatized a man’s feelings rather than her own.

I want to acknowledge very gratefully my indebtedness for counsel and
suggestions to Harriet Monroe, Jessie B. Rittenhouse, Louis Untermeyer,
Henry L. Mencken, William Stanley Braithwaite, Thomas S. Jones, Jr.,
John Hall Wheelock, and Thomas B. Mosher. From my husband, Ernst B.
Filsinger, I have received unfailing aid and encouragement.

                                                           SARA TEASDALE




ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


Thanks are due the following publishers and authors for permission to
include selections from the volumes enumerated below:--

To Mr. Richard G. Badger (Boston) for poems from “April Twilights,” by
Willa Sibert Cather, and “The Dancers,” by Edith M. Thomas.

To Messrs. Benziger Brothers (New York) for a poem from “Irish Poems,”
by Katharine Tynan.

To Messrs. William Blackwood & Sons (Edinburgh) for a poem from “Songs
of the Glens of Antrim,” by Moira O’Neill.

To Mr. Edmund D. Brooks (Minneapolis) for a poem from “A Lark Went
Singing,” by Ruth Guthrie Harding.

To Messrs. Burns & Oates (London) for a poem from “Poems,” by Alice
Meynell.

To Messrs. Chatto & Windus (London) for poems from “Songs to Save a
Soul,” by Irene Rutherford McLeod.

To Messrs. W. B. Conkey Company (Chicago) for a poem from “Poems of
Passion,” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

To _Country Life_ (London) for a poem from “The Country Life
Anthology,” by Margaret Sackville.

To Messrs. George H. Doran Company (New York) for poems from “In Deep
Places,” by Amelia Josephine Burr.

To Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Co. (New York) for a poem from “The Far
Country,” by Florence Wilkinson.

To Messrs. Duffield & Co. (New York) for poems from “The Book of Love,”
by Elsa Barker, and “Gypsy Verses,” by Helen Hay Whitney.

To Messrs. Funk & Wagnalls Company (New York) for a poem from “The Four
Winds of Eirinn,” by Ethna Carbery.

To Messrs. Gay & Hancock, Limited (London), for a poem from “Poems of
Passion,” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

To Mr. S. B. Grundy (Toronto) for a poem from “The Lamp of Poor Souls,”
by Marjorie L. C. Pickthall.

To Messrs. Harper & Brothers (New York) for a poem from “Flower o’ the
Grass,” by Ada Foster Murray.

To Mr. William Heinemann (London) for poems from “The Golden
Threshold,” by Sarojini Naidu, and “India’s Love Lyrics,” by Laurence
Hope.

To Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company (Boston and New York) for poems
from “The Sister of the Wind” and “Little Gray Songs from St.
Joseph’s,” by Grace Fallow Norton; “The Singing Leaves,” by Josephine
Preston Peabody; “Collected Poems,” by Florence Earle Coates; “Happy
Ending,” by Louise Imogen Guiney; “A Handful of Lavender,” and “A Quiet
Road,” by Lizette Woodworth Reese; “Afternoons of April,” by Grace
Hazard Conkling; “The Shoes that Danced,” by Anna Hempstead Branch, and
“A Marriage Cycle,” by Alice Freeman Palmer.

To Mr. B. W. Huebsch (New York) for poems from “Songs to Save a Soul,”
by Irene Rutherford McLeod.

To Mr. Mitchell Kennerley (New York) for poems from “The Joy o’ Life,”
by Theodosia Garrison, and “Interpretations,” by Zoë Akins.

To Messrs. John Lane Company (New York) for poems from “The Lamp of
Poor Souls,” by Marjorie L. C. Pickthall; “The Golden Threshold,” by
Sarojini Naidu; “India’s Love Lyrics,” by Laurence Hope, and “Poems,”
by Rosamund Marriott Watson.

To Mr. John Lane, The Bodley Head (London) for poems from “The Lamp
of Poor Souls,” by Marjorie L. Pickthall, and “Poems,” by Rosamund
Marriott Watson.

To Messrs. Little, Brown & Co. (Boston) for poems from “Poems” (Second
and Third Series), by Emily Dickinson.

To The Macmillan Company (New York) for poems from “Poems,” by
Christina Rossetti; “Sword Blades and Poppy Seed,” by Amy Lowell;
“Myself and I,” and “Crack o’ Dawn,” by Fannie Stearns Davis; “You and
I,” by Harriet Monroe, and “Songs of the Glens of Antrim,” by Moira
O’Neill.

To Messrs. Macmillan & Co., Limited (London), for poems from “Poems,”
by Christina Rossetti, and “Artemis to Actæon and Other Verse,” by
Edith Wharton.

To Mr. Thomas B. Mosher (Portland, Maine) for poems from “An Italian
Garden,” by A. Mary F. Robinson; “The Flower from the Ashes and Other
Verse,” by Edith M. Thomas, and “A Wayside Lute,” by Lizette Woodworth
Reese.

To Grant Richards, Limited (London), for poems from “The Man with a
Hammer,” by Anna Wickham, and “Interpretations,” by Zoë Akins.

To Alston Rivers, Limited (London), for a poem from “Selected Poems,”
by Nora Chesson.

To Messrs. Charles Scribner’s Sons (New York) for poems from “Artemis
to Actæon and Other Verse,” by Edith Wharton; “Poems,” by Alice
Meynell; “Songs about Life, Love and Death,” by Anne Reeve Aldrich;
“Beyond the Sunset,” by Julia C. R. Dorr; “The Cycle’s Rim,” by Olive
Tilford Dargan, and “The Call of Brotherhood,” by Corinne Roosevelt
Robinson.

To The Strange Company (San Francisco) for poems from “Poems,” by Nora
May French.

To T. Fisher Unwin, Limited (London), for poems from “An Italian
Garden,” by A. Mary F. Robinson, and “A London Plane Tree,” by Amy
Levy.

To The John C. Winston Company (Philadelphia) for poems from “Factories
with Other Lyrics,” by Margaret Widdemer.

And to the editors of _Poetry_ for permission to reprint poems by
Helen Dudley, Alice Corbin, and Jean Starr Untermeyer; to _The
Independent_ for a poem by Helen Hoyt; to _The Trimmed Lamp_ for a poem
by Marguerite Wilkinson; to _McClure’s Magazine_ for a poem by Jessie
B. Rittenhouse; to _The Smart Set_ for a poem by Muna Lee; to _The
Century_ for poems by Mary Carolyn Davies and Eunice Tietjens; to _The
Forum_ for a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay; to _Much Ado_ for poems
by Zoë Akins; and to The Manas Press (Rochester, New York) for a poem
by Adelaide Crapsey.




CONTENTS


    APOLOGY. _Amy Lowell_                                             27

    APRIL GHOST, AN. _Lizette Woodworth Reese_                       102

    ASHES OF LIFE. _Edna St. Vincent Millay_                          70

    AULD ROBIN GRAY. _Anne Barnard_                                  104


    “BELOVÈD, MY BELOVÈD, WHEN I THINK.” _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 26

    BIRCH TREE AT LOSCHWITZ, THE. _Amy Levy_                           2

    BIRTHDAY, A. _Christina Rossetti_                                 17


    CARNATIONS. _Margaret Widdemer_                                   97

    CHOICE. _Emily Dickinson_                                         19

    “COME BACK TO ME.” _Christina Rossetti_                           69

    COMRADES. _Fannie Stearns Davis_                                  49

    CONNAUGHT LAMENT, A. _Nora Chesson_                               10

    “CUTTIN’ RUSHES.” _Moira O’Neill_                                 94

    CYNIC, THE. _Theodosia Garrison_                                  72


    DEBTS. _Jessie B. Rittenhouse_                                    46

    DEEP-SEA PEARL, THE. _Edith M. Thomas_                           103

    DIRGE. _Adelaide Crapsey_                                        100

    “DOUGLAS, DOUGLAS, TENDER AND TRUE.” _Dinah
    Mulock Craik_                                                    114


    ECSTASY. _Sarojini Naidu_                                         35

    ENCHANTED SHEEP-FOLD, THE. _Josephine Preston Peabody_            15


    FAREWELL, A. _Harriet Monroe_                                     66

    FINIS. _Rosamund Marriott Watson_                                107

    FOUND. _Josephine Preston Peabody_                                18

    FRIENDSHIP AFTER LOVE. _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_                      84

    FROM A CAR-WINDOW. _Ruth Guthrie Harding_                         91


    GIFTS. _Juliana Horatia Ewing_                                    57

    “GO FROM ME.” _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_                        64

    “GRANDMITHER, THINK NOT I FORGET.” _Willa Sibert Cather_         108

    GREAT MAN, THE. _Eunice Tietjens_                                 37


    HAWTHORN TREE, THE. _Willa Sibert Cather_                         34

    HEART’S COUNTRY, THE. _Florence Wilkinson_                        23

    “HOW DO I LOVE THEE?” _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_                43


    I AM THE WIND. _Zoë Akins_                                        80

    “I HAVE WANDERED TO A SPRING.” _Edna Wahlert McCourt_              5

    I KNOW. _Elsa Barker_                                             39

    “I LEANED OUT MY WINDOW.” _Jean Ingelow_                          31

    “I MUST NOT YIELD.” _Nora May French_                             63

    “I SAT AMONG THE GREEN LEAVES.” _Marjorie L. C. Pickthall_        13

    “I WILL NOT GIVE THEE ALL MY HEART.” _Grace Hazard Conkling_      56

    “IF THOU MUST LOVE ME, LET IT BE FOR NOUGHT.”
    _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_                                      41

    IN DEEP PLACES. _Amelia Josephine Burr_                           51

    IN THE PARK. _Helen Hoyt_                                         14

    INCANTATION, AN. _Marguerite Wilkinson_                           21

    INSUFFICIENCY. _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_                       62


    LATE COMER, TO A. _Julia C. R. Dorr_                              96

    “LESS THAN THE DUST.” _Laurence Hope_                            119

    “LOVE CAME BACK AT FALL O’ DEW.” _Lizette Woodworth Reese_        90

    LOVE IS A TERRIBLE THING. _Grace Fallow Norton_                    8

    LOVE ME AT LAST. _Alice Corbin_                                    6

    LOVE SONG. _Mary Carolyn Davies_                                  22

    LOVE SONG. _Harriet Monroe_                                       59

    LOVE’S CHANGE. _Anne Reeve Aldrich_                               67

    LYNMOUTH WIDOW, A. _Amelia Josephine Burr_                       118


    MAN, THE. _Helen Hay Whitney_                                    121

    MAN WITH A HAMMER, THE. _Anna Wickham_                            36

    “MANY IN AFTERTIMES WILL SAY.” _Christina Rossetti_               78

    MENACE. _Katharine Tynan_                                         58

    MESSAGE, THE. _Margaret Sackville_                                85


    NAME, THE. _Williamina Parrish_                                   30

    NORAH. _Zoë Akins_                                               120


    “OH, THE BURDEN, THE BURDEN OF LOVE UNGIVEN.”
    _Grace Fallow Norton_                                             12

    OLD SONG, AN. _Fannie Stearns Davis_                              54

    OTHER, THE. _Ethna Carbery_                                       86


    PARTING. _Emily Dickinson_                                        53

    PARTING. _Alice Freeman Palmer_                                   83

    PASSER-BY, THE. _Edith M. Thomas_                                111

    POSSESSION. _Jean Starr Untermeyer_                               60


    RAIN. _Jean Starr Untermeyer_                                     29

    RAIN, RAIN! _Zoë Akins_                                           33

    RAINBOW, THE. _Vine Colby_                                        88

    RED MAY. _A. Mary F. Robinson_                                     7

    REMINISCENCE, A. _Amy Levy_                                       99

    RENOUNCEMENT. _Alice Meynell_                                     65

    REQUIESCAT. _Rosamund Marriott Watson_                           113

    REST. _Irene Rutherford McLeod_                                   40

    RHAPSODY. _Florence Earle Coates_                                 24

    RISPETTO, I, II, III. _A. Mary F. Robinson_               75, 76, 77


    SEA SONG. _Laurence Hope_                                         73

    SERVICE. _Anna Hempstead Branch_                                  81

    SILLER CROWN, THE. _Susanna Blamire_                              92

    “SO BEAUTIFUL YOU ARE, INDEED.” _Irene Rutherford McLeod_         20

    SOMEWHERE OR OTHER. _Christina Rossetti_                           1


    TAXI, THE. _Amy Lowell_                                           44

    THAT DAY YOU CAME. _Lizette Woodworth Reese_                      52

    TIRED WOMAN, THE. _Anna Wickham_                                  42

    TO A LATE COMER. _Julia C. R. Dorr_                               96

    TO ONE UNKNOWN. _Helen Dudley_                                     3

    “TO-DAY I WENT AMONG THE MOUNTAIN FOLK.” _Olive Tilford Dargan_  101


    “UNDER DUSKY LAUREL LEAF.” _Margaret Widdemer_                   122

    UNFULFILLED. _Corinne Roosevelt Robinson_                        117

    UNWEDDED. _Ada Foster Murray_                                    116


    VOS NON VOBIS. _Edith M. Thomas_                                  11


    “WHEN I AM DEAD.” _Christina Rossetti_                           112

    “WHEN ON THE MARGE OF EVENING.” _Louise Imogen Guiney_            25

    WHEN PLAINTIVELY AND NEAR THE CRICKET SINGS. _Nora May French_    68

    “WHEN WE SHALL BE DUST.” _Muna Lee_                               79

    WOMAN’S QUESTION, A. _Adelaide Anne Procter_                      47


    “YET FOR ONE ROUNDED MOMENT.” _Edith Wharton_                     61

    “YOU SAY THERE IS NO LOVE.” _Grace Fallow Norton_                 45




THE ANSWERING VOICE




SOMEWHERE OR OTHER


    Somewhere or other there must surely be
      The face not seen, the voice not heard,
    The heart that not yet--never yet--ah, me!
      Made answer to my word.

    Somewhere or other, maybe near or far;
      Past land and sea, clean out of sight;
    Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star
      That tracks her night by night.

    Somewhere or other, maybe far or near;
      With just a wall, a hedge, between;
    With just the last leaves of the dying year
      Fallen on a turf grown green.

                                                    _Christina Rossetti_




THE BIRCH TREE AT LOSCHWITZ


    At Loschwitz above the city
      The air is sunny and chill;
    The birch trees and the pine trees
      Grow thick upon the hill.

    Lone and tall, with silver stem,
      A birch tree stands apart;
    The passionate wind of spring-time
      Stirs in its leafy heart.

    I lean against the birch tree,
      My arms around it twine;
    It pulses, and leaps, and quivers,
      Like a human heart to mine.

    One moment I stand, then sudden
      Let loose mine arms that cling:
    O God! the lonely hillside,
      The passionate wind of spring!

                                  _Amy Levy_




TO ONE UNKNOWN


    I have seen the proudest stars
    That wander on through space,
    Even the sun and moon,
    But not your face.

    I have heard the violin,
    The winds and waves rejoice
    In endless minstrelsy;
    Yet not your voice.

    I have touched the trillium,
    Pale flower of the land,
    Coral, anemone,
    And not your hand.

    I have kissed the shining feet
    Of Twilight lover-wise,
    Opened the gates of Dawn--
    Oh, not your eyes!

    I have dreamed unwonted things,
    Visions that witches brew,
    Spoken with images,
    Never with you.

                                                          _Helen Dudley_




“I HAVE WANDERED TO A SPRING”


    I have wandered to a spring in the forest green and dim,
    The sweet quiet stirs about me--
    The water twinkles at me,
    As I stoop to dip my cup,
          As I stoop to drink--to him.

    True, I’m only half in earnest--I touch the cool, wet brim--
    He’d laugh if he could see me--
    I’m glad he doesn’t see me,
    As alone with my queer gladness,
          I stoop to drink--to him.

                                                  _Edna Wahlert McCourt_




LOVE ME AT LAST


    Love me at last, or if you will not,
          Leave me;
    Hard words could never, as these half-words,
          Grieve me:
    Love me at last--or leave me.

    Love me at last, or let the last word uttered
          Be but your own;
    Love me, or leave me--as a cloud, a vapor,
          Or a bird flown.
    Love me at last--I am but sliding water
          Over a stone.

                                                          _Alice Corbin_




RED MAY


    Out of the window the trees in the Square
      Are covered with crimson May--
    You, that were all of my love and my care,
      Have broken my heart to-day.

    But though I have lost you and though I despair
      Till even the past looks gray--
    Out of the window the trees in the Square
      Are covered with crimson May.

                                                   _A. Mary F. Robinson_




LOVE IS A TERRIBLE THING


    I went out to the farthest meadow,
    I lay down in the deepest shadow;

    And I said unto the earth, “Hold me,”
    And unto the night, “O enfold me,”

    And unto the wind petulantly
    I cried, “You know not for you are free!”

    And I begged the little leaves to lean
    Low and together for a safe screen;

    Then to the stars I told my tale:
    “That is my home-light, there in the vale,

    “And Ο, I know that I shall return,
    But let me lie first mid the unfeeling fern.

    “For there is a flame that has blown too near,
    And there is a name that has grown too dear,
    And there is a fear....”

    And to the still hills and cool earth and far sky I made moan,
    “The heart in my bosom is not my own!

    “O would I were free as the wind on wing;
    Love is a terrible thing!”

                                                   _Grace Fallow Norton_




A CONNAUGHT LAMENT


    I will arise and go hence to the west,
    And dig me a grave where the hill-winds call;
    But oh, were I dead, were I dust, the fall
    Of my own love’s footstep would break my rest!

    My heart in my bosom is black as a sloe!
    I heed not cuckoo, nor wren, nor swallow:
    Like a flying leaf in the sky’s blue hollow
    The heart in my breast is, that beats so low.

    Because of the words your lips have spoken,
    (O dear black head that I must not follow)
    My heart is a grave that is stripped and hollow,
    As ice on the water my heart is broken.

    O lips forgetful and kindness fickle,
    The swallow goes south with you: I go west
    Where fields are empty and scythes at rest.
    I am the poppy and you the sickle;
    My heart is broken within my breast.

                                                          _Nora Chesson_




VOS NON VOBIS


    There was a garden planned in Spring’s young days,
    Then Summer held it in her bounteous hand,
    And many wandered through its blooming ways,
    But ne’er the one for whom the work was planned.
          And it was vainly done--
    For what are many, if we lack the one?

    There was a song that lived within the heart
    Long time--and then on Music’s wing it strayed!
    All sing it now, all praise its artless art,
    But ne’er the one for whom the song was made.
          And it was vainly done--
    For what are many, if we lack the one!

                                                       _Edith M. Thomas_




“OH, THE BURDEN, THE BURDEN OF LOVE UNGIVEN”


    Oh, the burden, the burden of love ungiven,
      The weight of laughter unshed,
    Oh, heavy caresses, unblown tendernesses,
      Oh, love-words unsung and unsaid.

    Oh, the burden, the burden of love unspoken,
      The cramp of silence close-furled,
    To lips that would utter, to hands that would scatter
      Love’s seed on the paths of the world.

    Oh, the heavy burden of love ungiven:
      My breast doth this burden bear;
    Deep in my bosom the unblown blossom--
      My world-love that withers there.

                                                   _Grace Fallow Norton_




“I SAT AMONG THE GREEN LEAVES”


    I sat among the green leaves, and heard the nuts falling,
      The blood-red butterflies were gold against the sun,
    But in between the silence and the sweet birds calling
      The nuts fell one by one.

    Why should they fall and the year but half over?
      Why should sorrow seek me and I so young and kind?
    The leaf is on the bough and the dew is on the clover,
      But the green nuts are falling in the wind.

    Oh, I gave my lips away and all my soul behind them.
      Why should trouble follow and the quick tears start?
    The little birds may love and fly with only God to mind them,
      But the green nuts are falling on my heart.

                                              _Marjorie L. C. Pickthall_




IN THE PARK


    He whistled soft whistlings I knew were for me,
    Teasing, endearing.
    Won’t you look? was what they said,
    But I did not turn my head.
    (Only a little I turned my hearing.)

    My feet took me by;
    Straight and evenly they went:
    As if they had not dreamed what he meant:
    As if such a curiosity
    Never were known since the world began
    As woman wanting man!

    My heart led me past and took me away;
    And yet it was my heart that wanted to stay.

                                                            _Helen Hoyt_




THE ENCHANTED SHEEP-FOLD


    The hills far-off were blue, blue,
      The hills at hand were brown;
    And all the herd-bells called to me
      As I came by the down.

    The briars turned to roses--roses,
      Ever we stayed to pull
    A white little rose, and a red little rose,
      And a lock of silver wool.

    Nobody heeded,--none, none;
      And when True Love came by,
    They thought him nought but the shepherd-boy.
      Nobody knew but I!

    The trees were feathered like birds, birds;
      Birds were in every tree.
    Yet nobody heeded, nobody heard,
      Nobody knew, save we.

    And he is fairer than all,--all.
      How could a heart go wrong?
    For his eyes I knew, and his knew mine,
      Like an old, old song.

                                             _Josephine Preston Peabody_




A BIRTHDAY


    My heart is like a singing bird
      Whose nest is in a watered shoot:
    My heart is like an apple tree
      Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
    My heart is like a rainbow shell
      That paddles in a halcyon sea;
    My heart is gladder than all these
      Because my love is come to me.

    Raise me a dais of silk and down;
      Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
    Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
      And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
    Work it in gold and silver grapes,
      In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
    Because the birthday of my life
      Is come, my love is come to me.

                                                    _Christina Rossetti_




FOUND


        Oh, when I saw your eyes,
    So old it was, so new, the hushed surprise:
    After a long, long search, it came to be,
          Home folded me.

        And looking up, I saw
    The far, first stars like tapers to my awe,
    In the dim hands of hid, benignant Powers,
          At search long hours.

        And did they hear us call,
    That they have found us children after all?
    And did you know, O Wonderful and Dear,
          That I was here?

                                             _Josephine Preston Peabody_




CHOICE


    Of all the souls that stand create
    I have elected one.
    When sense from spirit flies away,
    And subterfuge is done;

    When that which is and that which was
    Apart, intrinsic, stand,
    And this brief tragedy of flesh
    Is shifted like a sand;

    When figures show their royal front
    And mists are carved away,--
    Behold the atom I preferred
    To all the lists of clay!

                                                       _Emily Dickinson_




“SO BEAUTIFUL YOU ARE INDEED”


    So beautiful you are, indeed,
    That I am troubled when you come,
    And though I crave you for my need,
    Your nearness strikes me blind and dumb.

    And when you bring your lips to mine
    My spirit trembles and escapes,
    And you and I are turned divine,
    Bereft of our familiar shapes.

    And fearfully we tread cold space,
    Naked of flesh and winged with flame,
    ... Until we find us face to face,
    Each calling on the other’s name!

                                               _Irene Rutherford McLeod_




AN INCANTATION


    O strong sun of heaven, harm not my love,
    Sear him not with your flame, blind him not with your beauty,
    Shine for his pleasure!

    O gray rains of heaven, harm not my love,
    Drown not in your torrent the song of his heart,
    Lave and caress him!

    O swift winds of heaven, harm not my love,
    Bruise not nor buffet him with your rough humor,
    Sing you his prowess!

    O mighty triad, strong ones of heaven,
    Sun, rain and wind, be gentle, I charge you;
    For your mad mood of wrath have me, I am ready--
    But spare him, my lover, most proud and most dear--
    O sun, rain and wind, strong ones of heaven!

                                                  _Marguerite Wilkinson_




LOVE SONG


    There is a strong wall about me to protect me:
    It is built of the words you have said to me.

    There are swords about me to keep me safe:
    They are the kisses of your lips.

    Before me goes a shield to guard me from harm:
    It is the shadow of your arms between me and danger.

    All the wishes of my mind know your name,
    And the white desires of my heart
    They are acquainted with you.
    The cry of my body for completeness,
    That is a cry to you.
    My blood beats out your name to me, unceasing, pitiless--
    Your name, your name.

                                                   _Mary Carolyn Davies_




THE HEART’S COUNTRY


    Hill people turn to their hills;
      Sea folk are sick for the sea:
    Thou art my land and my country,
      And my heart calls out for thee.

    The bird beats his wings for the open,
      The captive burns to be free;
    But I--I cry at thy window,
      For thou art my liberty.

                                                    _Florence Wilkinson_




RHAPSODY


    As the mother bird to the waiting nest,
      As the regnant moon to the sea,
    As joy to the heart that hath first been blest--
      So is my love to me.

    Sweet as the song of the lark that soars
      From the net of the fowler free,
    Sweet as the morning that song adores--
      So is my love to me!

    As the rose that blossoms in matchless grace
      Where the canker may not be,
    As the well that springs in a desert place--
      So is my love to me.

                                                 _Florence Earle Coates_




“WHEN ON THE MARGE OF EVENING”


    When on the marge of evening the last blue light is broken,
      And winds of dreamy odor are loosened from afar,
    Or when my lattice opens, before the lark hath spoken,
      On dim laburnum-blossoms, and morning’s dying star,

    I think of thee (oh mine the more if other eyes be sleeping!)
      Whose greater noonday splendors the many share and see,
    While sacred and forever, some perfect law is keeping
      The late, the early twilight, alone and sweet for me.

                                                  _Louise Imogen Guiney_




“BELOVÈD, MY BELOVÈD, WHEN I THINK”


    Belovèd, my belovèd, when I think
    That thou wast in the world a year ago,
    What time I sat alone here in the snow,
    And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
    No moment at thy voice, but link by link,
    Went counting all my chains as if that so
    They never could fall off at any blow
    Struck by thy possible hand,--why, thus I drink
    Of life’s great cup of wonder! Wonderful,
    Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
    With personal act or speech, nor ever cull
    Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
    Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,
    Who cannot guess God’s presence out of sight.

                                            _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_




APOLOGY


    Be not angry with me that I bear
      Your colors everywhere,
      All through each crowded street,
        And meet
      The wonder-light in every eye,
        As I go by.

    Each plodding wayfarer looks up to gaze,
      Blinded by rainbow haze,
      The stuff of happiness,
        No less,
      Which wraps me in its glad-hued folds
        Of peacock golds.

    Before my feet the dusty, rough-paved way
      Flushes beneath its gray.
      My steps fall ringed with light,
        So bright,
      It seems a myriad suns are strown
        About the town.

    Around me is the sound of steepled bells,
      And rich perfumèd smells
      Hang like a wind-forgotten cloud,
        And shroud
      Me from close contact with the world.
        I dwell impearled.

    You blazon me with jeweled insignia.
      A flaming nebula
      Rims in my life. And yet
        You set
      The word upon me, unconfessed
        To go unguessed.

                                                            _Amy Lowell_




RAIN


    I have always hated the rain,
    And the gloom of grayed skies.
    But now I think I must always cherish
    Rain-hung leaf and the misty river;
    And the friendly screen of dripping green
    Where eager kisses were shyly given
    And your pipe-smoke made clouds in our damp, close heaven.

    The curious laggard passed us by,
    His wet shoes soughed on the shining walk.
    And that afternoon was filled with a blurred glory--
    That afternoon, when we first talked as lovers.

                                                 _Jean Starr Untermeyer_




THE NAME


    I’ve learned to say it carelessly,
      So no one else can see
    By any little look or sign
      How dear it is to me.

    But, oh, the thrill, as though you kissed
      My tingling finger-tips
    Each time the golden syllables
      Fall lightly from my lips!

                                                    _Williamina Parrish_




“I LEANED OUT MY WINDOW”


        I leaned out my window, I smelt the white clover,
          Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate;
        Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover--
          Hush, nightingale, hush! Oh, sweet nightingale, wait
            Till I listen and hear
            If a step draweth near,
            For my love he is late!

        “The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer,
          A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree,
        The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer:
          To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see?
            Let the star-clusters grow,
            Let the sweet waters flow,
            And cross quickly to me.

        “You night moths that hover where honey brims over
          From sycamore blooms, or settle or sleep;
        You glowworms, shine out, and the pathway discover
          To him that comes darkling along the rough steep.
            Ah, my sailor, make haste,
            For the time runs to waste,
            And my love lieth deep--

        “Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one lover,
          I’ve conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night.”
        By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover,
          Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight;
            But I’ll love him more, more
            Than e’er wife loved before,
            Be the day dark or bright.

                                                          _Jean Ingelow_




RAIN, RAIN!


    Rain, rain,--fall, fall,
            In a heavy screen--
            That my lover be not seen!

    Wind, wind,--blow, blow,
            Till the leaves are stirred--
            That my lover be not heard!

    Storm, storm,--rage, rage,
            Like a war around--
            That my lover be not found!

    ... Lark, lark,--hush ... hush ...
            Softer music make--
            That my lover may not wake....

                                                             _Zoë Akins_




THE HAWTHORN TREE


    Across the shimmering meadows--
    Ah, when he came to me!
    In the spring-time,
    In the night-time,
    In the starlight,
    Beneath the hawthorn tree.

    Up from the misty marshland--
    Ah, when he climbed to me!
    To my white bower,
    To my sweet rest,
    To my warm breast,
    Beneath the hawthorn tree.

    Ask of me what the birds sang,
    High in the hawthorn tree;
    What the breeze tells,
    What the rose smells,
    What the stars shine--
    Not what he said to me!

                                                   _Willa Sibert Cather_




ECSTASY


    Cover mine eyes, O my Love!
      Mine eyes that are weary of bliss
    As of light that is poignant and strong.
      Oh, silence my lips with a kiss,
    My lips that are weary of song!

    Shelter my soul, O my Love!
      My soul is bent low with the pain
    And the burden of love, like the grace
      Of a flower that is smitten with rain;
    Oh, shelter my soul from thy face!

                                                        _Sarojini Naidu_




THE MAN WITH A HAMMER


    My Dear was a mason
      And I was his stone.
    And quick did he fashion
      A house of his own.

    As fish in the waters,
      As birds in a tree,
    So natural and blithe lives
      His spirit in me.

                                                          _Anna Wickham_




THE GREAT MAN


    I cannot always feel his greatness.
    Sometimes he walks beside me, step by step,
    And paces slowly in the ways--
    The simple, wingless ways
    That my thoughts tread. He gossips with me then,
    And finds it good;
    Not as an eagle might, his great wings folded, be content
    To walk a little, knowing it his choice,
    But as a simple man,
    My friend.
    And I forget.

    Then suddenly a call floats down
    From the clear airy spaces,
    The great keen, lonely heights of being.
    And he who was my comrade hears the call
    And rises from my side, and soars,
    Deep-chanting, to the heights.
    Then I remember.
    And my upward gaze goes with him, and I see
    Far off against the sky
    The glint of golden sunlight on his wings.

                                                       _Eunice Tietjens_




I KNOW


    Oh! I know why the alder trees
      Lean over the reflecting stream;
    And I know what the wandering bees
      Heard in the woods of dream.

    I know how the uneasy tide
      Answers the signal of the moon,
    And why the morning-glories hide
      Their eyes in the forenoon.

    And I know all the wild delight
      That quivers in the sea-bird’s wings,
    For in one little hour last night
      Love told me all these things.

                                                           _Elsa Barker_




REST


    As a little child I come
    To be gathered to your breast
    So tired that my lips are dumb,
    So sad that my warm heart is numb:
        Belovèd, let me rest.

    Oh, how all the noises die,
    All the cruel voices cease,
    I can sleep when you are by,
    And I am too faint to cry:
        Here at last is peace.

    Hold me, nurse me, love me ... so ...
    Almost I could learn to weep!
    Hush, I feel my spirit grow ...
    When you tire ... let me go ...
        I shall be ... asleep.

                                               _Irene Rutherford McLeod_




“IF THOU MUST LOVE ME, LET IT BE FOR NOUGHT”


    If thou must love me, let it be for nought
    Except for love’s sake only. Do not say,
    “I love her for her smile, her look, her way
    Of speaking gently, for a trick of thought
    That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
    A sense of pleasant ease on such a day”;
    For these things in themselves, belovèd, may
    Be changed, or change for thee: and love so wrought
    May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
    Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry:
    A creature might forget to weep, who bore
    Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby.
    But love me for love’s sake, that evermore
    Thou mayst love on through love’s eternity.

                                            _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_




THE TIRED WOMAN


    O my Lover, blind me,
    Take your cords and bind me,
    Then drive me through a silent land,
    With the compelling of your open hand!

    There is too much of sound, too much for sight,
    In thunderous lightnings of this night,
    There is too much of freedom for my feet,
    Bruised by the stones of this disordered street.

    I know that there is sweetest rest for me,
    In silent fields, and in captivity.
    O Lover! drive me through a stilly land,
    With the compelling of your open hand.

                                                          _Anna Wickham_




“HOW DO I LOVE THEE?”


    How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
    I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
    My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
    For the ends of being and ideal grace.
    I love thee to the level of every day’s
    Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
    I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
    I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
    I love thee with the passion put to use
    In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
    I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
    With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
    Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
    I shall but love thee better after death.

                                            _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_




THE TAXI


    When I go away from you
    The world beats dead
    Like a slackened drum.
    I call out for you against the jutted stars
    And shout into the ridges of the wind.
    Streets coming fast,
    One after the other,
    Wedge you away from me,
    And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
    So that I can no longer see your face.
    Why should I leave you,
    To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?

                                                            _Amy Lowell_




“YOU SAY THERE IS NO LOVE”


    You say there is no love, my love,
      Unless it lasts for aye!
    Oh, folly, there are interludes
      Better than the play.

    You say lest it endure, sweet love,
      It is not love for aye?
    Oh, blind! Eternity can be
      All in one little day.

                                                   _Grace Fallow Norton_




DEBTS


    My debt to you, Belovèd,
      Is one I cannot pay
    In any coin of any realm
      On any reckoning day;

    For where is he shall figure
      The debt, when all is said,
    To one who makes you dream again
      When all the dreams were dead?

    Or where is the appraiser
      Who shall the claim compute
    Of one who makes you sing again
      When all the songs were mute?

                                                 _Jessie B. Rittenhouse_




A WOMAN’S QUESTION


    Before I trust my fate to thee,
      Or place my hand in thine,
    Before I let thy future give
      Color and form to mine,--
    Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night, for me.

    I break all slighter bonds, nor feel
      One shadow of regret:
    Is there one link within the past
      That holds thy spirit yet?
    Or is thy faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge
          to thee?...

    Is there within thy heart a need
      That mine cannot fulfill?
    One chord that any other hand
      Could better wake or still?
    Speak now, lest at some future day, my whole life wither and decay....

    Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day,
      And answer to my claim
    That fate, and that to-day’s mistake,
      Not thou, had been to blame?
    Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou--oh, surely thou wilt
          warn me now!

                                                 _Adelaide Anne Procter_




COMRADES


    You need not say one word to me, as up the hill we go
    (Night-time, white-time, all in the whispering snow);
    You need not say one word to me, although the whispering trees
    Seem strange and old as pagan priests in swaying mysteries.

    You need not think one thought of me, as up the trail we go
    (Hill-trail, still-trail, all in the hiding snow);
    You need not think one thought of me, although a hare runs by,
    And off behind the tumbled cairn we hear a red fox cry.

    Oh, good and rare it is to feel, as through the night we go
    (Wild-wise, child-wise, all in the secret snow),
    That we are free of heart and foot as hare and fox are free,
    And yet that I am glad of you, and you are glad of me!

                                                  _Fannie Stearns Davis_




IN DEEP PLACES


    I love thee, dear, and knowing mine own heart
    With every beat I give God thanks for this;
    I love thee only for the self thou art;
    No wild embrace, no wisdom-shaking kiss,
    No passionate pleading of a heart laid bare,
    No urgent cry of love’s extremity--
    Strong traps to take the spirit unaware--
    Not one of these I ever had of thee.
    Neither of passion nor of pity wrought
    Is this, the love to which at last I yield,
    But shapen in the stillness of my thought
    And by a birth of agony revealed.
    Here is a thing to live while we do live
    Which honors thee to take and me to give.

                                                 _Amelia Josephine Burr_




THAT DAY YOU CAME


    Such special sweetness was about
      That day God sent you here,
    I knew the lavender was out,
      And it was mid of year.

    Their common way the great winds blew,
      The ships sailed out to sea;
    Yet ere that day was spent I knew
      Mine own had come to me.

    As after song some snatch of tune
      Lurks still in grass or bough,
    So, somewhat of the end o’ June
      Lurks in each weather now.

    The young year sets the buds astir,
      The old year strips the trees;
    But ever in my lavender
      I hear the brawling bees.

                                               _Lizette Woodworth Reese_




PARTING


    My life closed twice before its close;
      It yet remains to see
    If Immortality unveil
      A third event to me.

    So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
      As these that twice befell;
    Parting is all we know of heaven,
      And all we need of hell.

                                                       _Emily Dickinson_




AN OLD SONG


    And if I came not again
    After certain days;
    If no morning sun or rain
    Met me on their ways;

    If the meadows knew no more
    How my feet go free,
    And the folded hills forbore
    Any speech of me;

    If you did not find me here,
    At the door at night,
    And the cold hearth kept no cheer,
    And the panes no light;--

    Oh, if I came not again,
    Would you miss me much?
    Would your fingers once be fain
    Of my wandering touch?

    Would you dream me at your side
    In the waking wood,
    Where the old spring hungers hide
    In blue solitude?

    Would you wonder where I passed,
    Into joy or pain?
    Oh, to know you cared, at last,
    Came I not again!

                                                  _Fannie Stearns Davis_




“I WILL NOT GIVE THEE ALL MY HEART”


    I will not give thee all my heart
    For that I need a place apart
    To dream my dreams in, and I know
    Few sheltered ways for dreams to go:
    But when I shut the door upon
    Some secret wonder--still, withdrawn--
    Why dost thou love me even more,
    And hold me closer than before?

    When I of Love demand the least,
    Thou biddest him to fire and feast:
    When I am hungry and would eat,
    There is no bread, though crusts were sweet.
    If I with manna may be fed,
    Shall I go all uncomforted?
    Nay! Howsoever dear thou art,
    I will not give thee all my heart.

                                                 _Grace Hazard Conkling_




GIFTS


    You ask me what--since we must part--
      You shall bring back to me.
    Bring back a pure and faithful heart
      As true as mine to thee.

    You talk of gems from foreign lands,
      Of treasure, spoil, and prize.
    Ah love! I shall not search your hands
      But look into your eyes.

                                                 _Juliana Horatia Ewing_




MENACE


    I came into your room and spoke.
      Sudden I knew you were not there.
    The easy, common sentence broke
      Against the unanswering air.

    My heart shook like a frightened bird,
      And to my ear the terror said,
    Where nothing spoke and nothing stirred,--
      _Dear God, if he were dead!_

    I heard your footstep in the house,
      Your voice brought comfort to my fear.
    But, fluttering like a frightened mouse,
      My heart beat at my ear.

    The room wore its familiar face;
      On the warm hearth spirted the flame.
    Yet--menace of an empty place--
      _Lord, if he never came!_

                                                       _Katharine Tynan_




LOVE SONG


    I love my life, but not too well
      To give it to thee like a flower,
    So it may pleasure thee to dwell
      Deep in its perfume but an hour.
    I love my life, but not too well.

    I love my life, but not too well
      To sing it note by note away,
    So to thy soul the song may tell
      The beauty of the desolate day.
    I love my life, but not too well.

    I love my life, but not too well
      To cast it like a cloak on thine,
    Against the storms that sound and swell
      Between thy lonely heart and mine.
    I love my life, but not too well.

                                                        _Harriet Monroe_




POSSESSION


    Walk into the world,
    Go into the places of trade;
    Go into the smiling country--
    But go, clad, wrapped closely always,
    Shielded and sustained,
    In the visible flame of my love.

    Let it blaze about you--
    A glowing armor for all to see;
    Flashing around your head--
    A tender and valiant halo.

    I think there will be many to wonder
    And many to stand in awe and envy--
    But surely no one will come too close to you.
    No one will dare to claim you,--
    Hand or heart,--
    As you pass in your shining and terrible garment.

                                                 _Jean Starr Untermeyer_




“YET FOR ONE ROUNDED MOMENT”


    Yet for one rounded moment I will be
    No more to you than what my lips may give,
    And in the circle of your kisses live
    As in some island of a storm-blown sea,
    Where the cold surges of infinity
    Upon the outward reefs unheeded grieve,
    And the loud murmur of our blood shall weave
    Primeval silences round you and me.

    If in that moment we are all we are,
    We live enough. Let this for all requite.
    Do I not know, some wingèd things from far
    Are borne along illimitable night
    To dance their lives out in a single flight
    Between the moonrise and the setting star?

                                                         _Edith Wharton_




INSUFFICIENCY


I

    There is no one beside thee, and no one above thee;
      Thou standest alone, as the nightingale sings!
      And my words that would praise thee are impotent things,
    For none can express thee, though all should approve thee.
      I love thee so, dear, that I only can love thee.


II

    Say, what can I do for thee? Weary thee, grieve thee?
      Lean on thy shoulder, new burdens to add?
      Weep my tears over thee, making thee sad?
    Oh, hold me not, love me not! let me retrieve thee.
      I love thee so, dear, that I only can leave thee.

                                            _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_




“I MUST NOT YIELD”


    I must not yield ... but if he would not sing!
      My stilling hands upon my breast can feel
    Its answer tremble like a muted string.
      Below the vaulted window where I kneel

    He sings, he sings, to stars and listening skies.
      A white and haunted place my garden seems.--
    I see the pleading beauty of his eyes
      As faces glimmer in a pool of dreams.

    So wooing wind might sweep a harp awake.
      (Oh, muting fingers on each quivering string!)
    I must not yield ... I think my heart will break.
      Mother of Heaven, if he would not sing!

                                                       _Nora May French_




“GO FROM ME”


    Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
    Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
    Alone upon the threshold of my door
    Of individual life, I shall command
    The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
    Serenely in the sunshine as before,
    Without the sense of that which I forbore,--
    Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
    Doom takes to part us leaves thy heart in mine
    With pulses that beat double. What I do
    And what I dream include thee, as the wine
    Must taste of its own grapes. And, when I sue
    God for myself, he hears that name of thine,
    And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

                                            _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_




RENOUNCEMENT


    I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
      I shun the thought that lurks in all delight--
      The thought of thee--and in the blue Heaven’s height,
    And in the sweetest passage of a song.

    Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng
      This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright;
      But it must never, never come in sight;
    I must stop short of thee the whole day long.

    But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
      When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
        And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,

    Must doff my will as raiment laid away,--
      With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
        I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.

                                                         _Alice Meynell_




A FAREWELL


    Good-bye!--no, do not grieve that it is over,
      The perfect hour;
    That the winged joy, sweet honey-loving rover,
      Flits from the flower.

    Grieve not--it is the law. Love will be flying--
      Yes, love and all.
    Glad was the living--blessed be the dying.
      Let the leaves fall.

                                                        _Harriet Monroe_




LOVE’S CHANGE


    I went to dig a grave for Love,
      But the earth was so stiff and cold
    That, though I strove through the bitter night,
      I could not break the mould.

    And I said: “Must he lie in my house in state,
      And stay in his wonted place?
    Must I have him with me another day,
      With that awful change in his face?”

                                                    _Anne Reeve Aldrich_




WHEN PLAINTIVELY AND NEAR THE CRICKET SINGS


    Now evening comes. Now stirs my discontent....
      Oh, ache of smallest, unforgotten things!
    How sharp you are when day and dark are blent,
      When beetles hurry by with vibrant wings,
      And plaintively and near the cricket sings.

    The sighing garden calls me from the door;
      Above the hills a little crescent swings--
    Above the path where you will come no more
      When beetles hurry by on vibrant wings,
      And plaintively and near the cricket sings.

                                                       _Nora May French_




“COME BACK TO ME”


    Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:--
      Or come not yet, for it is over then,
      And long it is before you come again,
    So far between my pleasures are and few.
    While, when you come not, what I do I do
      Thinking, “Now when he comes,” my sweetest “when”:
      For one man is my world of all the men
    This wide world holds; O love, my world is you.
    Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang
      Because the pang of parting comes so soon;
      My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon
      Between the heavenly days on which we meet:
    Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang
      When life was sweet because you called them sweet?

                                                    _Christina Rossetti_




ASHES OF LIFE


    Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
      Eat I must, and sleep I will,--and would that night were here!
    But ah!--to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
      Would that it were day again!--with twilight near!

    Love has gone and left me and I don’t know what to do;
      This or that or what you will is all the same to me;
    But all the things that I begin I leave before I’m through,--
      There’s little use in anything as far as I can see.

    Love has gone and left me, and the neighbors knock and borrow,
      And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse,--
    And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
      There’s this little street and this little house.

                                               _Edna St. Vincent Millay_




THE CYNIC


    I say it to comfort me over and over,
      Having a querulous heart to beguile,
    Never had woman a tenderer lover--
      For a little while.

    Oh, there never were eyes more eager to read her
      In her saddest mood or her moments gay,
    Oh, there never were hands more strong to lead her--
      For a little way.

    There never were loftier promises given
      Of love that should guard her the ages through,
    As great, enduring and steadfast as Heaven--
      For a week or two.

    Well, end as it does, I have had it, known it,
      For this shall I turn me to weep or pray?
    Nay, rather I laugh that I thought to own it
      For more than a day.

                                                    _Theodosia Garrison_




SEA SONG


    Against the planks of the cabin side
      (So slight a thing between them and me),
    The great waves thundered and throbbed and sighed,
      The great green waves of the Indian Sea!

    Your face was white as the foam is white,
      Your hair was curled as the waves are curled,
    I would we had steamed and reached that night
      The sea’s last edge, the end of the world.

    The wind blew in through the open port,
      So freshly joyous and salt and free,
    Your hair it lifted, your lips it sought,
      And then swept back to the open sea.

    The engines throbbed with their constant beat;
      Your heart was nearer, and all I heard;
    Your lips were salt, but I found them sweet,
      While, acquiescent, you spoke no word.

    So straight you lay in your narrow berth,
      Rocked by the waves; and you seemed to be
    Essence of all that is sweet on earth,
      Of all that is sad and strange at sea.

    And you were white as the foam is white,
      Your hair was curled as the waves are curled.
    Ah! had we but sailed and reached that night,
      The sea’s last edge, the end of the world!

                                                         _Laurence Hope_




RISPETTO

I


    What good is there, ah me, what good in Love?
      Since, even if you love me, we must part;
    And since for either, an’ you cared enough,
      There’s but division and a broken heart?

    And yet, God knows, to hear you say: My Dear!
    I would lie down and stretch me on the bier.
    And yet would I, to hear you say: My Own!
    With mine own hands drag down the burial stone.

                                                   _A. Mary F. Robinson_




RISPETTO

II


    Let us forget we loved each other much,
      Let us forget we ever have to part,
    Let us forget that any look or touch
      Once let in either to the other’s heart.

    Only we’ll sit upon the daisied grass
    And hear the larks and see the swallows pass;
    Only we’ll live awhile, as children play,
    Without to-morrow, without yesterday.

                                                   _A. Mary F. Robinson_




RISPETTO

III


    Ah, Love, I cannot die, I cannot go
      Down in the dark and leave you all alone,
    Ah, hold me fast, safe in the warmth I know,
      And never shut me underneath a stone.

    Dead in the grave! And I can never hear
    If you are ill, or if you miss me, dear,
    Dead, oh, my God! and you may need me yet,
    While I shall sleep, while I--while I--forget!

                                                   _A. Mary F. Robinson_




“MANY IN AFTERTIMES WILL SAY”


    Many in aftertimes will say of you,
      “He loved her”--while of me what will they say?
      Not that I loved you more than just in play,
    For fashion’s sake as idle women do.
    Even let them prate; who know not what we knew
      Of love and parting in exceeding pain,
      Of parting hopeless here to meet again,
    Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view.
    But by my heart of love laid bare to you,
      My love that you can make not void nor vain,
    Love that foregoes you but to claim anew
    Beyond this passage of the gate of death,
      I charge you at the Judgment make it plain
    My love of you was life and not a breath.

                                                    _Christina Rossetti_




“WHEN WE SHALL BE DUST”


    When we shall be dust in the churchyard--
      In twenty years--in fifty years--
    Who will remember you kissed me once,
      Who will be grieved for our tears?

    The locust tree will have grown taller,
      The old walks will be covered with grass,
    And past our quiet graves go straying
      A youth with his arm round his lass.

    And the bee that shall suck your grave flowers--
      Anemone, stock, columbine,
    May pause in his swift homing journey
      To taste of the honey from mine.

                                                              _Muna Lee_




I AM THE WIND


    I am the wind that wavers,
      You are the certain land;
    I am the shadow that passes
      Over the sand.

    I am the leaf that quivers,
      You--the unshaken tree;
    You are the stars that are steadfast,
      I am the sea.

    You are the light eternal,
      Like a torch I shall die....
    You are the surge of deep music,
      I--but a cry!

                                                             _Zoë Akins_




SERVICE


    If I could only serve him,
      How sweet this life would be.
    Last night I dreamed my darling,
      Alive, returned to me.

    I brought him from the cupboard
      The things he liked to eat,--
    The little piece of honey,
      The rye bread and the meat.

    I sang the song he asked for
      The night he went away.
    How was it, when I loved him,
      I could have said him nay!

    I took the time to please him,
      With a hand upon his brow.
    Amid the awful leisure
      There was no hurry now.

    How strange I once denied him
      What took so little while.
    A kiss would seem so simple,
      So slight a thing a smile.

    With pleased sweet looks of wonder
      He took what I could give,--
    Such words as we deny them
      Only because they live.

    The pale light of the morning
      Shone in upon the wall.
    Come back to me, my darling,
      And I will give you all.

                                                 _Anna Hempstead Branch_




PARTING


    Dear Love, it was so hard to say
                Good-bye to-day!
    You turned to go, yet going turned to stay!
    Till suddenly at last you went away.

    Then all at last I found my love unsaid,
                And bowed my head;
    And went in tears up to my lonely bed--
    Oh, would it be like this if you were dead?

                                                  _Alice Freeman Palmer_




FRIENDSHIP AFTER LOVE


    After the fierce midsummer all ablaze
      Has burned itself to ashes, and expires
      In the intensity of its own fires,
    There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin days
    Crowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze;
      So after Love has led us, till he tires
      Of his own throes, and torments, and desires
    Comes large-eyed friendship; with a restful gaze,
    He beckons us to follow, and across
      Cool, verdant vales we wander free from care--
      Is it a touch of frost lies in the air?
    Why are we haunted with a sense of loss?
    We do not wish the pain back, or the heat;
    And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete.

                                                   _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_




THE MESSAGE


    “Oh, have you not a message, you who come over the sea?
    Have you not a message or word at all for me?”

    “I have sailed, sailed, sailed where the seas are green and blue,
    I’ve silver, gold and merchandise--but never a word for you.”

    “But did you see my love by any way you came?
    For if you saw my love, he must have spoke my name.”

    “Oh, yes, I saw your love--oh, yes, and he was gay
    Riding in his coach-and-six all on his birthday.”

    “But when you spoke of me, of me--oh! what was it he said?”
    “Oh, he never said a word at all, but turned away his head.”

                                                    _Margaret Sackville_




THE OTHER


    I am the Other--I who come
      To heal the wound she gave,
    The wound that struck your fond words dumb,
      And left your world a grave.

    What though you loved her--I love you,
      And so the most is said,
    Here is my yearning heart, still true
      To yours her frailty bled.

    (But oh! the bitter grief that I
      Kept hushed, the wild despair,
    When your dear eyes had passed me by
      To find her face so fair.)

    Now she hath gone her cruel way,
      And I am come again,
    To seek among the husks to-day,
      For one sweet golden grain.

    Because in me Love’s strength is great,
      Too great for pride, or sin,
    I knock upon your heart’s barred gate,
      And pray you let me in.

                                                         _Ethna Carbery_




THE RAINBOW


        Whose doorway was it, in the sordid street,
          That gave us shelter from the sudden rain,--
        Two vagrant sparrows on a dripping branch,
          Waiting a moment to spread wing again?

        The beggar children danced through pavement pools
          Barefoot and joyous, splashing at their will;
        The rain washed green that dusty sycamore
          And straws swirled wildly down the gutter’s rill.

        Fast-breathing from the run, our hands still clasped,
          We leaned out laughing, shaking free our hair
        Of dewy drops, while still the clouds poured down
          A freshness that made heavenly the air.

        Then we both saw, above the sodden world,
          The Rainbow like a miracle appear,
        And you said, whispering, “Oh, kiss me once
          Before it fades!”--“Kiss me then quickly, Dear!”

        One warm sweet touch of lips--then forth we went
          Oblivious of all the rain and wet.
        To-day I saw a rainbow after rain....
          My heart remembered then--does yours forget?

                                                            _Vine Colby_




LOVE CAME BACK AT FALL O’ DEW


    Love came back at fall o’ dew,
    Playing his old part;
    But I had a word or two
    That would break his heart.

    “He who comes at candle-light,
    That should come before,
    Must betake him to the night
    From a barrèd door.”

    This the word that made us part
    In the fall o’ dew;
    This the word that brake his heart--
    Yet it brake mine, too.

                                               _Lizette Woodworth Reese_




FROM A CAR-WINDOW


    Pines, and a blur of lithe young grasses;
      Gold in a pool, from the western glow;
    Spread of wings where the last thrush passes--
      And thoughts of you as the sun dips low.

    Quiet lane, and an irised meadow ...
      (_How many summers have died since then?_) ...
    I wish you knew how the deepening shadow
      Lies on the blue and green again!

    Dusk, and the curve of field and hollow
      Etched in gray when a star appears:
    Sunset, ... twilight, ... and dark to follow, ...
      And thoughts of you through a mist of tears.

                                                  _Ruth Guthrie Harding_




THE SILLER CROWN


        “And ye sall walk in silk attire,
          And siller hae to spare,
        Gin ye’ll consent to be his bride,
          Nor think o’ Donald mair.”

        O, wha wad buy a silken gown
          Wi’ a puir broken heart?
        Or what’s to me a siller crown
          Gin frae my love I part?

        The mind whose meanest wish is pure
          Far dearest is to me,
        And ere I’m forced to break my faith,
          I’ll lay me down and dee.

        For I hae vowed a virgin’s vow
          My lover’s faith to share,
        An’ he has gi’en to me his heart,
          An’ what can man do mair?

        His mind and manners won my heart,
          He gratefu’ took the gift,
        An’ did I wish to seek it back
          It wad be waur than theft.

        The langest life can ne’er repay
          The love he bears to me,
        And ere I’m forced to break my faith,
          I’ll lay me down an’ dee.

                                                       _Susanna Blamire_




“CUTTIN’ RUSHES”


    Oh, maybe it was yesterday, or fifty years ago!
      Meself was risin’ early on a day for cuttin’ rushes.
    Walkin’ up the Brabla’ burn, still the sun was low,
      Now I’d hear the burn run an’ then I’d hear the thrushes.
    _Young, still young!_--and drenchin’ wet the grass,
      Wet the golden honeysuckle hangin’ sweetly down;
    _Here, lad, here!_ will ye follow where I pass,
      An’ find me cuttin’ rushes on the mountain.

    Then was it only yesterday, or fifty years or so?
      _Rippin’_ round the bog pools high among the heather,
    The hook it made me hand sore, I had to leave it go,
      ’Twas he that cut the rushes then for me to bind together.
    _Come, dear, come!_--an’ back along the burn
      See the darlin’ honeysuckle hangin’ like a crown.
    _Quick, one kiss_,--sure, there’s some one at the turn!
      “Oh, we’re afther cuttin’ rushes on the mountain.”

    Yesterday, yesterday, or fifty years ago....
      I waken out o’ dreams when I hear the summer thrushes.
    Oh, that’s the Brabla’ burn, I can hear it sing an’ flow,
      For all that’s fair I’d sooner see a bunch o’ green rushes.
    _Run, burn, run!_ can ye mind when we were young?
      The honeysuckle hangs above, the pool is dark an’ brown:
    _Sing, burn, sing!_ can ye mind the song ye sung
      The day we cut the rushes on the mountain?

                                                         _Moira O’Neill_




TO A LATE COMER


    Why didst thou come into my life so late?
      If it were morning I could welcome thee
      With glad all-hails, and bid each hour to be
    The willing servitor of thine estate,
    Lading thy brave ships with Time’s richest freight;
      If it were noonday I might hope to see
      On some fair height thy banners floating free,
    And hear the acclaiming voices call thee great!
    But it is nightfall and the stars are out;
      Far in the west the crescent moon hangs low,
        And near at hand the lurking shadows wait;
    Darkness and silence gather round about,
      Lethe’s black stream is near its overflow,--
        Ah, friend, dear friend, why didst thou come so late?

                                                      _Julia C. R. Dorr_




CARNATIONS


    _Carnations and my first love!_ And he was seventeen,
    And I was only twelve years--a stately gulf between!
    I broke them on the morning the school-dance was to be,
    To pin among my ribbons in hopes that he might see....
    And all the girls stood breathless to watch as he came through
    With curly crest and grand air that swept the heart from you!
    And why he paused at my side is more than I can know--
    Shyest of the small girls who all adored him so--
    I said it with my prayer-times: I walked with head held high:
    “_Carnations are your flower!_” he said as he strode by.

    _Carnations and my first love!_ The years are passed a score,
    And I recall his first name, and scarce an eyelash more....
    And those were all the love-words that either of us said--
    Perhaps he may be married--perhaps he may be dead.
    And yet, ... to smell carnations, their spicy, heavy sweet,
    Perfuming all some sick-room, or passing on the street,
    Then ... still the school-lamps flicker, and still the Lancers play,
    And still the girls hold breathless to watch him go his way,
    And still my child-heart quivers with that first ecstasy--
    “_Carnations are your flower!_” my first love says to me!

                                                     _Margaret Widdemer_




A REMINISCENCE


    It is so long gone by, and yet
      How clearly now I see it all!
    The glimmer of your cigarette,
      The little chamber, narrow and tall.

    Perseus; your picture in its frame;
      (How near they seem and yet how far!)
    The blaze of kindled logs; the flame
      Of tulips in a mighty jar.

    Florence and spring-time: surely each
      Glad things unto the spirit saith.
    Why did you lead me in your speech
      To these dark mysteries of death?

                                                              _Amy Levy_




DIRGE


        Never the nightingale;
            Oh, my dear,
        Never again the lark,
            Thou wilt hear.
    Though dusk and the morning still
    Tap at thy window-sill,
    Though ever love call and call,
    Thou wilt not hear at all,
        My dear, my dear.

                                                      _Adelaide Crapsey_




“TO-DAY I WENT AMONG THE MOUNTAIN FOLK”


    To-day I went among the mountain folk
    To hear the gentle talk most dear to me.
    I saw slow tears, and tenderness that woke
    From sternest bed to light a lamp for thee.
    And “Is it true?” hope asked and asked again,
    And “It is true,” was all that I could say,
    And pride rose over love to hide gray pain
    As eyes tears might ungrace were turned away.
    So much they loved thee I was half decoyed
    By human warmth to feel thee near, but when
    I put my hand out all the earth was void,
    And vanished even these near-weeping men.
    Thus each new time I find that thou art gone,
    Anew do I survive the world, alone.

                                                  _Olive Tilford Dargan_




AN APRIL GHOST


    All the ghosts I ever knew,
      White, and thinly calling,
    Come into the house with you,
      When the dew is falling.

    All of youth that ever died,
      In the Spring-time weather,
    In the windy April tide,
      Climb the dusk together.

    For a moment, lad and maid
      Stand up there all lonely;
    In a moment fade and fade--
      You are left, you only.

                                               _Lizette Woodworth Reese_




THE DEEP-SEA PEARL


    The love of my life came not
      As love unto others is cast;
    For mine was a secret wound--
      But the wound grew a pearl, at last.

    The divers may come and go,
      The tides, they arise and fall;
    The pearl in its shell lies sealed,
      And the Deep Sea covers all.

                                                       _Edith M. Thomas_




AULD ROBIN GRAY


    When the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye’s come hame,
    And a’ the weary warld to rest are gane,
    The waes o’ my heart fa’ in showers frae my ee,
    Unkent by my gudeman, wha sleeps sound by me.

    Young Jamie lo’ed me weel, and sought me for his bride,
    But saving ae crown-piece he had naething beside;
    To make the crown a pound my Jamie gaed to sea,
    And the crown and the pound--they were baith for me.

    He hadna been gane a twelvemonth and a day,
    When my father brake his arm and the cow was stown away;
    My mither she fell sick--my Jamie was at sea,
    And auld Robin Gray came a-courting me.

    My father couldna wark--my mither couldna spin--
    I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win;
    Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi’ tears in his ee,
    Said: “Jeanie, O for their sakes, will ye no marry me?”

    My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back,
    But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack;
    His ship was a wrack--why didna Jamie dee?
    Or why am I spared to cry wae is me?

    My father urged me sair--my mither didna speak,
    But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break;
    They gied him my hand--my heart was in the sea--
    And so Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

    I hadna been his wife a week but only four,
    When, mournfu’ as I sat on the stane at my door,
    I saw my Jamie’s ghaist, for I couldna think it he,
    Till he said: “I’m come hame, love, to marry thee!”

    Oh, sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a’,
    I gied him ae kiss, and bade him gang awa’--
    I wish that I were dead, but I’m na like to dee,
    For, though my heart is broken, I’m but young, wae is me!

    I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin,
    I darena think o’ Jamie, for that wad be a sin,
    But I’ll do my best a gude wife to be,
    For, oh! Robin Gray, he is kind to me.

                                                          _Anne Barnard_




FINIS


    Even for you I shall not weep
      When I at last, at last am dead,
    Nor turn and sorrow in my sleep
      Though you should linger overhead.

    Even of you I shall not dream
      Beneath the waving graveyard grass;
    One with the soul of wind and stream
      I shall not heed you if you pass.

    Even for you I would not wake,
      Too bitter were the tears I knew,
    Too dark the road I needs must take--
      The road that winds away from you.

                                              _Rosamund Marriott Watson_




“GRANDMITHER, THINK NOT I FORGET”


    Grandmither, think not I forget, when I come back to town,
    An’ wander the old ways again an’ tread them up an’ down.
    I never smell the clover bloom, nor see the swallows pass,
    Without I mind how good ye were unto a little lass.
    I never hear the winter rain a-pelting all night through,
    Without I think and mind me of how cold it falls on you.
    And if I come not often to your bed beneath the thyme,
    Mayhap ’tis that I’d change wi’ ye, and gie my bed for thine,
            Would like to sleep in thine.

    I never hear the summer winds among the roses blow,
    Without I wonder why it was ye loved the lassie so.
    Ye gave me cakes and lollipops and pretty toys a score,--
    I never thought I should come back and ask ye now for more.
    Grandmither, gie me your still, white hands, that lie upon your breast,
    For mine do beat the dark all night and never find me rest;
    They grope among the shadows an’ they beat the cold black air,
    They go seekin’ in the darkness, an’ they never find him there,
            An’ they never find him there.

    Grandmither, gie me your sightless eyes, that I may never see
    His own a-burnin’ full o’ love that must not shine for me.
    Grandmither, gie me your peaceful lips, white as the kirkyard snow,
    For mine be red wi’ burnin’ thirst an’ he must never know.
    Grandmither, gie me your clay-stopped ears, that I may never hear
    My lad a-singin’ in the night when I am sick wi’ fear;
    A-singin’ when the moonlight over a’ the land is white--
    Oh God! I’ll up an’ go to him a-singin’ in the night,
            A-callin’ in the night.

    Grandmither, give me your clay-cold heart that has forgot to ache,
    For mine be fire within my breast and yet it cannot break.
    It beats an’ throbs forever for the things that must not be,--
    An’ can ye not let me creep in an’ rest awhile by ye?
    A little lass afeared o’ dark slept by ye years agone--
    Ah, she has found what night can hold ’twixt sunset an’ the dawn!
    So when I plant the rose an’ rue above your grave for ye,
    Ye’ll know it’s under rue an’ rose that I would like to be,
            That I would like to be.

                                                   _Willa Sibert Cather_




THE PASSER-BY


    Step lightly across the floor,
    And somewhat more tender be.

    There were many that passed my door,
    Many that sought after me.
    I gave them the passing word--
    Ah, why did I give thee more?
    I gave thee what could not be heard,
    What had not been given before;
    The beat of my heart I gave....
    And I give thee this flower on my grave.

    My face in the flower thou mayst see.
    Step lightly across the floor.

                                                       _Edith M. Thomas_




“WHEN I AM DEAD”


    When I am dead, my dearest,
      Sing no sad songs for me;
    Plant thou no roses at my head,
      Nor shady cypress tree:
    Be the green grass above me
      With showers and dewdrops wet:
    And if thou wilt, remember,
      And if thou wilt, forget.

    I shall not see the shadows,
      I shall not feel the rain;
    I shall not hear the nightingale
      Sing on as if in pain:
    And dreaming through the twilight
      That doth not rise nor set,
    Haply I may remember,
      And haply may forget.

                                                    _Christina Rossetti_




REQUIESCAT


    Bury me deep when I am dead,
    Far from the woods where sweet birds sing;
    Lap me in sullen stone and lead,
    Lest my poor dust should feel the Spring.

    Never a flower be near me set,
    Nor starry cup nor slender stem,
    Anemone nor violet,
    Lest my poor dust remember them.

    And you--wherever you may fare--
    Dearer than birds, or flowers, or dew--
    Never, ah me, pass never there,
    Lest my poor dust should dream of you.

                                              _Rosamund Marriott Watson_




“DOUGLAS, DOUGLAS, TENDER AND TRUE”


    Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
    In the old likeness that I knew,
    I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
    Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

    Never a scornful word should grieve ye,
    I’d smile on ye sweet as the angels do;--
    Sweet as your smile on me shone ever,
    Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

    Oh, to call back the days that are not!
    My eyes were blinded, your words were few;
    Do you know the truth now up in heaven,
    Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?

    I never was worthy of you, Douglas;
    Not half worthy the like of you:
    Now all men beside seem to me like shadows--
    I love you, Douglas, tender and true.

    Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,
    Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew;
    As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas,
    Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

                                                    _Dinah Mulock Craik_




UNWEDDED


    Along her tranquil way she went,
      The slow, sad course of changeless years,
    While in her burned her youth unspent,
      Dulled sometimes by her gentle tears.

    In richer lives she saw the strange,
      Sweet urgency of wedded days;
    In dreams she watched her pale light change,
      Into the steadfast altar blaze.

    And, waking, sadly bowed above
      Her slender vestal flame and wept;
    Ah, better were the house of love,
      By blighting fire and tempest swept.

                                                     _Ada Foster Murray_




UNFULFILLED


    I read the pain and pathos of your eyes,
      The aftermath of anguish in your smile,
      And yet I can but envy you the while!
    Your heart has bled, an ardent sacrifice
    To Love’s fulfillment. You have paid the price
      Of keen, fierce living; nor can aught defile
      The joys that once have been--they still beguile
    The tear-swept memory that Time defies.

    My soul’s adventure, pallid, incomplete,
      Has lingered in the twilight, for my heart
        Has dwelt aloof in some dim atmosphere
    Betwixt the Earth and Heaven. My alien feet
      Have known nor Pain nor its great counterpart.
        I, who have never loved, may shed no tear.

                                            _Corinne Roosevelt Robinson_




A LYNMOUTH WIDOW


    He was straight and strong, and his eyes were blue
    As the summer meeting of sky and sea,
    And the ruddy cliffs had a colder hue
    Than flushed his cheek when he married me.

    We passed the porch where the swallows breed,
    We left the little brown church behind,
    And I leaned on his arm, though I had no need,
    Only to feel him so strong and kind.

    One thing I never can quite forget;
    It grips my throat when I try to pray--
    The keen salt smell of a drying net
    That hung on the churchyard wall that day.

    He would have taken a long, long grave--
    A long, long grave, for he stood so tall....
    Oh, God! the crash of a breaking wave,
    And the smell of the nets on the churchyard wall!

                                                 _Amelia Josephine Burr_




“LESS THAN THE DUST”


    Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel,
    Less than the rust, that never stained thy Sword,
    Less than the trust thou hast in me, O Lord,
                                Even less than these!

    Less than the weed, that grows beside thy door,
    Less than the speed of hours spent far from thee,
    Less than the need thou hast in life of me.
                                Even less am I.

    Since I, O Lord, am nothing unto thee,
    See here thy Sword, I make it keen and bright,
    Love’s last reward, Death, comes to me to-night,
                                Farewell, Zahir-u-din.

                                                         _Laurence Hope_




NORAH


    I knew his house by the poplar trees--
    Green and silvery in the breeze;

    “A heaven-high hedge,” were the words he said,
    “And holly-hocks--pink and white and red....”

    It seemed so far from McChesney’s Hall
    Where first he told me about it all....

    A long path runs inside from the gate,
    He still can take it early or late;

    But where in the world is a path for me--
    Except the river that runs to the sea!

                                                             _Zoë Akins_




THE MAN


    The flame is spent, I can no more
    Hold the tall candle by your door;
    Too often have I watched to see
    Your lagging steps come home to me.

    The Tyrian traders taught me this:
    They came perfumed with ambergris,
    With amethystine robes, and hair
    Curled by the kisses of salt air.

    They mocked me for my weary hands
    Holding your light as love demands;
    They sang the lure of poppied sleep,
    Their lips were warm, their eyes were deep.

    The flame is spent--your pale, weak face
    Must seek another resting place;
    Win me and hold me now who can--
    The Tyrian trader was a man.

                                                     _Helen Hay Whitney_




“UNDER DUSKY LAUREL LEAF”


    Under dusky laurel leaf,
      Scarlet leaf of rose,
    I lie prone, who have known
      All a woman knows--

    Love and grief and motherhood,
      Fame and mirth and scorn;
    These are all shall befall
      Any woman born.

    Jewel-laden are my hands,
      Tall my stone above;
    Do not weep that I sleep
      Who was wise in love;

    Where I walk a shadow gray
      Through gray asphodel,
    I am glad, who have had
      All that Life could tell.

                                                     _Margaret Widdemer_




INDEXES




INDEX OF FIRST LINES


    Across the shimmering meadows, 34

    After the fierce midsummer all ablaze, 84

    Against the planks of the cabin side, 73

    Ah, Love, I cannot die, I cannot go, 77

    All the ghosts I ever knew, 102

    Along her tranquil way she went, 116

    And if I came not again, 54

    And ye sall walk in silk attire, 92

    As a little child I come, 40

    As the mother bird to the waiting nest, 24

    At Loschwitz above the city, 2


    Be not angry with me that I bear, 27

    Before I trust my fate to thee, 47

    Belovèd, my belovèd, when I think, 26

    Bury me deep when I am dead, 113


    _Carnations and my first love!_ and he was seventeen, 97

    Come back to me, who wait and watch for you, 69

    Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, 114

    Cover mine eyes, O my Love!, 35


    Dear Love, it was so hard to say, 83


    Even for you I shall not weep, 107


    Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand, 64

    Good-bye!--no, do not grieve that it is over, 66

    Grandmither, think not I forget, when I come back to town, 108


    He was straight and strong, and his eyes were blue, 118

    He whistled soft whistlings I knew were for me, 14

    Hill people turn to their hills, 23

    How do I love thee? Let me count the ways, 43


    I am the Other--I who come, 86

    I am the wind that wavers, 80

    I came into your room and spoke, 58

    I cannot always feel his greatness, 37

    I have always hated the rain, 29

    I have seen the proudest stars, 3

    I have wandered to a spring in the forest green and dim, 5

    I knew his house by the poplar trees, 120

    I leaned out my window, I smelt the white clover, 31

    I love my life, but not too well, 59

    I love thee, dear, and knowing mine own heart, 51

    I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong, 65

    I must not yield ... but if he would not sing!, 63

    I read the pain and pathos of your eyes, 117

    I sat among the green leaves, and heard the nuts falling, 13

    I say it to comfort me over and over, 72

    I’ve learned to say it carelessly, 30

    I went out to the farthest meadow, 8

    I went to dig a grave for Love, 67

    I will arise and go hence to the west, 10

    I will not give thee all my heart, 56

    If I could only serve him, 81

    If thou must love me, let it be for nought, 41

    It is so long gone by, and yet, 99


    Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel, 119

    Let us forget we loved each other much, 76

    Love came back at fall o’ dew, 90

    Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike, 70

    Love me at last, or if you will not, 6


    Many in aftertimes will say of you, 78

    My Dear was a mason, 36

    My debt to you, Belovèd, 46

    My heart is like a singing bird, 17

    My life closed twice before its close, 53


    Never the nightingale, 100

    Now evening comes. Now stirs my discontent, 68


    O my Lover, blind me, 42

    O strong sun of heaven, harm not my love, 21

    Of all the souls that stand create, 19

    Oh, have you not a message, you who come over the sea?, 85

    Oh! I know why the alder trees, 39

    Oh, maybe it was yesterday, or fifty years ago!, 94

    Oh, the burden, the burden of love ungiven, 12

    Oh, when I saw your eyes, 18

    Out of the window the trees in the Square, 7


    Pines, and a blur of lithe young grasses, 91


    Rain, rain,--fall, fall, 33


    So beautiful you are, indeed, 20

    Somewhere or other there must surely be, 1

    Step lightly across the floor, 111

    Such special sweetness was about, 52


    The flame is spent, I can no more, 121

    The hills far-off were blue, blue, 15

    The love of my life came not, 103

    There is a strong wall about me to protect me, 22

    There is no one beside thee, and no one above thee, 62

    There was a garden planned in Spring’s young days, 11

    To-day I went among the mountain folk, 101


    Under dusky laurel leaf, 122


    Walk into the world, 60

    What good is there, ah me, what good in Love?, 75

    When I am dead, my dearest, 112

    When I go away from you, 44

    When on the marge of evening the last blue light is broken, 25

    When the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye’s come hame, 104

    When we shall be dust in the churchyard, 79

    Whose doorway was it, in the sordid street, 88

    Why didst thou come into my life so late?, 96


    Yet for one rounded moment I will be, 61

    You ask me what--since we must part, 57

    You need not say one word to me, as up the hill we go, 49

    You say there is no love, my love, 45




INDEX OF AUTHORS


    AKINS, ZOË, 33, 80, 120

    ALDRICH, ANNE REEVE, 67


    BARKER, ELSA, 39

    BARNARD, ANNE, 104

    BLAMIRE, SUSANNA, 92

    BRANCH, ANNA HEMPSTEAD, 81

    BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT, 26, 41, 43, 62, 64

    BURR, AMELIA JOSEPHINE, 51, 118


    CARBERY, ETHNA, 86

    CATHER, WILLA SIBERT, 34, 108

    CHESSON, NORA, 10

    COATES, FLORENCE EARLE, 24

    COLBY, VINE, 88

    CONKLING, GRACE HAZARD, 56

    CORBIN, ALICE, 6

    CRAIK, DINAH MULOCK, 114

    CRAPSEY, ADELAIDE, 100


    DARGAN, OLIVE TILFORD, 101

    DAVIES, MARY CAROLYN, 22

    DAVIS, FANNIE STEARNS, 49, 54

    DICKINSON, EMILY, 19, 53

    DORR, JULIA C. R., 96

    DUDLEY, HELEN, 3


    EWING, JULIANA HORATIA, 57


    FRENCH, NORA MAY, 63, 68


    GARRISON, THEODOSIA, 72

    GUINEY, LOUISE IMOGEN, 25


    HARDING, RUTH GUTHRIE, 91

    HOPE, LAURENCE, 73, 119

    HOYT, HELEN, 14


    INGELOW, JEAN, 31


    LEE, MUNA, 79

    LEVY, AMY, 2, 99

    LOWELL, AMY, 27, 44


    MCCOURT, EDNA WAHLERT, 5

    MCLEOD, IRENE RUTHERFORD, 20, 40

    MEYNELL, ALICE, 65

    MILLAY, EDNA ST. VINCENT, 70

    MONROE, HARRIET, 59, 66

    MURRAY, ADA FOSTER, 116


    NAIDU, SAROJINI, 35

    NORTON, GRACE FALLOW, 8, 12, 45


    O’NEILL, MOIRA, 94


    PALMER, ALICE FREEMAN, 83

    PARRISH, WILLIAMINA, 30

    PEABODY, JOSEPHINE PRESTON, 15, 18

    PICKTHALL, MARJORIE L. C., 13

    PROCTER, ADELAIDE ANNE, 47


    REESE, LIZETTE WOODWORTH, 52, 90, 102

    RITTENHOUSE, JESSIE B., 46

    ROBINSON, A. MARY F., 7, 75, 76, 77

    ROBINSON, CORINNE ROOSEVELT, 117

    ROSSETTI, CHRISTINA, 1, 17, 69, 78, 112


    SACKVILLE, MARGARET, 85


    THOMAS, EDITH M., 11, 103, 111

    TIETJENS, EUNICE, 37

    TYNAN, KATHARINE, 58


    UNTERMEYER, JEAN STARR, 29, 60


    WATSON, ROSAMUND MARRIOTT, 107, 113

    WHARTON, EDITH, 61

    WHITNEY, HELEN HAY, 121

    WICKHAM, ANNA, 36, 42

    WIDDEMER, MARGARET, 97, 122

    WILCOX, ELLA WHEELER, 84

    WILKINSON, FLORENCE, 23

    WILKINSON, MARGUERITE, 21




    The Riverside Press
    CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS
    U · S · A




Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other
spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

Italics are represented thus _italic_.