UC-NRLF UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. OIF T OK Received Accession No. & ~L 93 Class No. BY HESTER A. BENEDICT BUFFALO CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 1895 COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY HESTER A. BENEDICT. PRINTED BY CHARLES WELLS MOULTON, BUFFALO, N. Y. TO HON. LYMAN W. HALL. UP FROM DUSK-LAND AND DREAMLAND I BRING THESE FAGOTS TO THE HEARTHSTONE OF > -V YOUR HEART, MY FATHER S FRIEND AND MINE, THAT WITH THEM YOU MAY LIGHT TO FRESHER LIFE THE MEMORY OF ONE WHO OWES TO YOUR FAITH FUL FRIENDSHIP AND WISE DIREC TION WHATEVER OF WORTH IS IN THE SONG SHE SINGS. CONTENTS. PAGE The Spirit of Song 9 Only A Woman On the Shoreland 13 Three-score Years 15 To-day and Forever 18 Father and Child 19 Laura 21 What She Owns 22 Overheard 25 Unconfessed 27 Across the Years 28 If You Know 30 Two Hours 3 2 Her Lover 34 Barbara 36 " In the Old Likeness " 3 Come With the Spring Wind and Blossoms . 39 Nothing to Us 41 Dream By the Sea 43 You and I Know 4 6 My Little Love 48 Paupers 5 With You 52 With Pansies 54 What Shall I Say 55 Jonny and I 57 vi CONTENTS. At the Gate 59 My Girl 61 Marguerite 63 For Love s Sweet Sake 65 A Wise Waif 67 Dowered 69 Before the Ball 72 Through the Snow 75 Away from Me 77 A Lesson 78 Derelictus 79 Where the Tidal Waves Come In 80 Always 81 Homeward 83 Last Words 85 After Years 86 Bijou 88 Lost 90 Her Answer 92 Haunting the Hollow 94 O Summer, Dear Summer 95 When the Shadows Come Again 97 Elleanore 99 In the Waltz . . . 101 FAGOTS TO THE SPIRIT OF SONG. WITH bosom where burdensome breath is, From rocks where a beautiful bark Lieth wreck d in the caverns where death is, I rise like a ghost in the dark Crying out to thee, Come from thy palace, Thy palace where praises belong, And hold to my white lips thy chalice, O, comforting Spirit of Song! O er the path of my past thou hast fluttered Sometimes like a breeze o er the sea, And a few of all words I have uttered, Had in them a little of thee. It is not enough! Do the shadows Of ships that are stately and strong Save the drowning ? or dreams of old meadows Where home is ? O, Spirit of Song! Nay, nay! hold me hard! I am done with All things that the world deemeth dear; All dreams that my lone life begun with Forever and ever end here Save its one dream of thee. Lo! I cover Them carefully, crying to thee: Be more than a mother or lover, Henceforth and forever to me! 10 FAGOTS. Be life of my life! be the duty That life s weary way making sweet! Be brightness, be bloom and be beauty Be calm and be comfort complete! Forgetting to weep or to wonder Grown quiet, majestic and strong, Let me be like an immortelle under Thy mantle, O, Spirit of Song! Hand in hand let us con the old pages By poet-souls written and read; Heart to heart let us traverse old ages By poet-lips never named dead; By a ladder more rosy than roses, Neath banners by angels unfurled, Let us climb where heaven s portal uncloses High over a wondering world. Behold me! I lay on thine altar All days and all deeds I have loved; All faith that my soul has seen falter; All loves I have proved or disproved. And I swear by my life that was lonely, By my soul that with thee waxeth strong, Evermore to be thine, and thine only, Thou comforting Spirit of Song! FAGOTS. n ONLY A WOMAN. ONLY a woman, shriveled and old, The play of the winds and the prey of the cold! Cheeks that are shrunken, Eyes that are sunken, Lips that were never o erbold; Only a woman, forsaken and poor, Asking an alms at the bronze church door. Hark to the organ! roll upon roll The waves of its music go over her soul! Silks rustle past her Thicker and faster; . The great bell ceases its toll, Fain would she enter, but not for the poor Swingeth wide open the bronze church door. Only a woman waiting alone, Icily cold on an ice-cold throne. What do they care for her ? Mumbling a prayer for her, Giving not bread but a stone. Under old laces their haughty hearts beat, Mocking the woes of their kin in the street. Only a woman! In the old days Hope caroled to her, her happiest lays; Somebody missed her, Somebody kissed her, 12 FAGOTS. Somebody crowned her with praise; Somebody faced up the battles of life Strong for her sake who was mother, or wife. Somebody lies with a tress of her hair Light on his heart where the death-shadows are; Somebody waits for her, Opening the gates for her, Giving delight for despair. Only a woman nevermore poor Dead in the snow at the bronze church door! FAGOTS. 13 ON THE SHORELAND. WIND that I know not, if nothing will stay you From my own lattice where moonlight is fair, If nothing will stay you, be wary I pray you, How you sail into and out of my hair. Let it be lightly for love of the loving; Let it be softly for sake of the sweet; Lightly and softly forever, O roving Wind from the somewhere where mysteries meet, For, when my darling one sailed to Vanesses, Over the heart of the treacherous sea, He left in my tresses a world of caresses True as the truest of lovers may be. And in the night-time when sleep cometh softly, And in the morning when sunrise is sweet, I whisper a prayer for him oftly and oftly, Adding, " God hasten the hour when we meet!" Years they are coming, and years they are going, Still not a sign of his ship on the sea, And in the waves flowing not anything showing What it is keeping my darling from me. Oh! but to see his white sails in the harbor! Oh! but to hear his call answering mine! Oh! for his feet in my jessamine arbor! Oh! for the raptures of days of lang syne! i 4 FAGOTS. What shall I do ? Oh! will any one tell me What I shall do with my heart that is his, When it calleth for comfort, with cryings that kill me, Hard from the heart of the waiting that is ? What shall I do with its desolate aching ? What with its pulses of passionate pain ? What with its bondage, and what with its break ing, If he comes back to me never again ? I will say, "Father, whose palm hath the pillows Of the dear sleepers on shoreland and sea, Guarding the willows and guarding the billows, Give of thy pity a little to me! And, till the hour when death cometh kindly, And, till the morning forevermore fair, Feeling my way to him through the dark blindly, Leave me, for comfort, his kiss in my hair. " FAGOTS. 15 THREE-SCORE YEARS. You are saying the strange words over and over, Leaning your cheek on your tremulous palm, And watching just over the fallen-down clover The orchard asleep in a midwinter calm. The orchard where fluttered, in times unforgotten, The little bright locks, and the little light feet, And the little, low laughs of the children begotten Of love that you think of as loyal and sweet; And you smile in the knowledge that sowing or reaping, Happily under or over the blue; Proud of naught else they are proud to be keeping Here, or in heaven, their worship of you. Swift as a thought through the sunshiny spaces, Over the mountain tops covered with snow, Over the meadows, with mists in their faces, Into the warmth of your bosom I go. What to my heart that on your heart is beating Are the great changes that others may see, But the pure parts of a poem repeating All your life s labor for them and for me! Toil in the day-time, and tears that have written In the night s silence your pain and your prayer, Fear that has faded, and blight that has bitten Half the old ebon hue out of your hair! 16 FAGOTS. Tears on your lashes? I ll kiss them away, dear! Kiss the low lips and the beautiful brow, Kiss the kind hands I have missed so, and say, dear! Never to me were you lovely as now. And I know, in the rhymings of fact or of fiction, Nothing is told of so old or so new, Nothing so sweet as the Christ benediction Resting forever on mothers like you. Mothers content if the seeds of their hoping Yield but in others a fruitage, tho late; Mothers who stand on life s westerly sloping Patient to journey and patient to wait. Still on your bosom, I seem to be sailing Past the pale sunset away and away, Swift as a whisper of want or of wailing, Into the splendor of infinite day. And like a saint mid the saints defloration Welcomed of all in the welcome Unknown, I see the white soul of my soul s adoration Reap the ripe harvest of all it has sown; See the sheen and the snow of its drapery, woven Of lilies whose leaflets still cradle the dew, And its crown of full recompense tenderly cloven From the great heart of Compassion, for you. Over the meadow-land, moonlight is streaming; Day from the weary world walketh apart; Shadows enfolded us while I was dreaming Here in my old place over your heart, FAGOTS. 17 Here in the calm I have failed to discover Whether in laughter or whether in tears, Hunting the happy world over and over, All the sweet length of my womanhood s years. Low at your feet let me say the old prayer again, Lifting my passionless palms from your knee, Feeling your breath in my tangled-up hair again, Knowing "the angels are envying me." i8 FAGOTS. TO-DAY AND FOREVER. i. MY breath but touches the rose in your palm, And lo! how the light leaves scatter, Leaving no semblance of bloom or of balm; But what, I pray, does it matter? Laugh, as they flutter away, my dear, As they flow with the flow of the river! We are done with dead roses to-day, my dear, Done with them to-day and forever. ii. Your eyes but turn to the tress in my palm The wee little tress so golden, And low I whisper: "The sweetest calm Was born of that sorrow olden." Sing, as it sinks to the mosses, my dear, To the mosses that border the river! We are done with old losses and crosses, my dear, Done with them to-day and forever. in. Laugh low! Sing softly! Love is alive And awake where we walk together; But Love is fragile, and Love will thrive Best in the sunniest weather. So, let the past be the past, my dear; Let it go, as the shade on the river! We are done with old sorrows, at last, my dear, Done with them to-day and forever. FAGOTS. 19 FATHER AND CHILD. GRAY-HAIRED and brown-haired they stood where the sunrise, Wove of its wonder their girdle and crown, He, with his old heart and face to his grainland, She with her young heart and face to the town. "Good-bye!" he whispered his voice sounding, somehow, As if it climbed from a prison of pain, To catch the Christ-comfort "May our God keep you Strong for His service in body and brain. " Where you are going it may be they need you More than I need you, my own little one! Harvest fields whiten I know, in the distance, And workers are few, darling, under the sun. "So, though my days may be lone, shall I shirk, dear, The burden God sends through this parting with you ? Nay, nay! since somewhere, not here, there is work, dear, For your small hands and your large heart to do." 20 FAGOTS. Silent he grew then. She from his bosom Slid; kneeled on the hard earth; bowed her bright head, And " Never again shall I kneel thus before you This side the Better Land, father," she said. " Give me your blessing! " Quickly he answered Barring the brown of her beautiful hair With his pale fingers " Bless you, my darling! May you be ever the great Father s care. "Stainless and white be your garments of living; Well-done the labor God gives you to do; Sweet may your songs and brave may your heart be, In storm or in sunshine, the whole journey through." Gray-haired and brown-haired they parted that morning; Never a tender thing grew at their feet; Never a happy thing troubled the silence With a low singing of anything sweet. Only God s heaven of comfort above them; Only God s heaven of hope in their hearts; Only God s heaven of faith for their armor, Saving and shielding from deathfulest darts. Old hands and young hands forever divided; Old heart and young heart for aye undefiled; Singing the snows from their burden of crosses, Calm to the Christ-Land, go father and child. FAGOTS. 21 LAURA. IN queenly quiet, she standeth there, With the morning sunbeams o er her, Fair and sweet as the roses are, In the sweet world-ways before her, To merriest music her young life leaps; And, under their hazel lashes, Her sweet eyes hold in their tender deeps, Brighter than star-light flashes. I never have touched with my human lips A thread of her braided tresses; I never have reached my finger tips To a vine that her hand caresses; But I know she is fair as the fair may be; That Sorrow he kens not of her; That her life sings ever a-low, like the sea, And that I am forever her lover! Reaching for laurel and bay, I stand Where the wild waves rise in riot, And long for a touch of the maiden s hand, A dream in her bower s quiet. If she loved me a little, my songs, I think, Would be sweeter the sweet world over; But never the nectar of Hope I drink, Though I am her loyalest lover. 22 FAGOTS. WHAT SHE OWNS. ONLY a little land toward the sunset A tract not wide nor long With trailing vines and violets upon it, And slow airs sweet with song, And all the place so canopied with quiet That, listening, you may hear, To its soft couch of grasses running riot, The angels drawing near. No more than this though much perchance ye wonder Hath she of whom ye ask; No more, save something the green grasses under, With eyes that white lids mask, And sweet, sweet heart, for some unspoken reason, Never to bound or break In any time or any place or season, For any young love s sake. No more than this this side the happy heaven That she may call her own, Than this and these! for, morn and noon and even, Wends she her way alone Across the world, with pale, proud lips shut tightly, And eyes too sad to see Along her lone way quivering ever brightly The lights of memory. FAGOTS. 23 Empty around her fall your words of wooing, Empty your words of praise; No love hath she for any love s pursuing, No faith for wedded days; No thought of giving, asking or receiving, Enters her heart or head, For all the fair young buds of her believing Lie in her bosom dead. Up the high hillside leading to her treasure Some one will walk ere long, With pulses beating to a sense of pleasure And to a sense of song, Plucking the blooms and treading down the grasses Till, suddenly astir, A bough that bends with every breath that passes Yields him a glimpse of her. Her snowy cheek on snowy tablet lying As twere the mother s breast Her lashes, heavy with no hints of crying, Over her dark eyes prest, Her tired heart, past pain and past beseeching, Nestling, as pure as snow, Among the violets, as though twere reaching Down to the dead below; Her poor, pale lips just parted, as for saying Some words of shamelessness; Her poor, pale palms just folded as for praying In very blamelessness; 24 FAGOTS. Upon her brow no trace of any fever, Nor any life enthroned; Only a prayer that all the world will leave her Alone with what she owned. FAGOTS. 25 OVERHEARD. AN orchard old and gnarly, and a wood Stretching away behind, With birds that in the shadows build and brood, Sweet ning the summer wind. A cottage to the southward, gray and old; Northward the waving grain, With thirsty bees from blossoms manifold Drinking the recent rain. Above, light clouds across the perfect blue Of skies serene and sweet; Below, a well-worn winding path where true And happy lovers meet. Two faces where a grape vine bendeth low Over a breadth of balm; Two voices with their quiet ebb and flow; Two hands turned palm to palm. I tell not what I chance to overhear, Nor to the night nor day; I only say: " God bless and keep you, dear! Then turn, and go my way. 26 FAGOTS. They age so soon! so soon forget their play, These little ones of ours! To-day betrothed and only yesterday Were babes among the flowers. But if, forevermore they walk, with Love, The ways made smooth or rough, Facing up fair the one white gate above, Perhaps it is enough. FAGOTS. 27 UNCONFESSED. ACROSS the fields of summer bloom A wind went, slow and sweet, To lay his burden of perfume Low at my lady s feet. The brooklet murmured, " Stay, my dear! " The white rose whispered " Wait! " And the red rose hinted, " I am here, Close to the garden gate! " ii. But on and away the wild wind went, Humming a love-song old, Till he found my lady, and died content, Kissing her locks of gold. The brooklet s murmur may reach her ear, The white rose climb to her breast, And the red rose follow! but I stay here, With my one love unconfessed. 28 FAGOTS. ACROSS THE YEARS. SWEETHEART, do you remember how, Half hidden in the bloomy heather, We watched a workman at his plough, One idle summer day together ? One idle, balmy, dreamful day, Not over-full of song or splendor, But rare with sweets of new-mown hay, And rare with music soft and tender. We were but children you and I With childhood s trust and chilhood s hoping, Tinting with crimson all the sky O er all our future s upward sloping. If cold and care were anywhere, Or anywhere the dark of sorrow, We thought not, knew not, dreaming there Of but the day and but the morrow. We listened to the song of birds, Ourselves as softly, lightly singing, Yet troubling not with sound of words The silence where perfumes were swinging. Enough for us that we could feel Our pulses to the Day s pulse beating, And know that for divinest weal His spirit and our own were meeting. FAGOTS. 29 I know not why O, sweetheart mine! But that dear day my heart is haunting What time I watch the lessening line Of ships that sail o er seas enchanting. I lean across the years, across Unlevel lengths of sun and shadow, Hiding my kisses in the moss That edges all the old-home meadow. I wrap the red rose in my hair; I rock the red rose on my bosom, But can not find you anywhere On seas of space or beds of blossom. I reach the sunshine and the dew, I hear the nested bluebird calling, And yet I know not if with you The sunshine or the rain is falling. So be it. All the world is sweet, And haply you are somewhere in it; No shadow of regret shall meet The sunshine of a single minute. Summer is with me. Calm on calm Is lying in my heart and over, The while I sit here palm on palm With all the laughing land my lover. 30 FAGOTS. IF YOU KNOW. IF you know where the tenderest breezes Tarry from morning till night, With singing as sweet as the sea s is Wanton and wild with delight Then you know where the face of my lover Beams with a beauty divine; And the heart of your heart hath, moreover, Part of the secret of mine. If you know where the blossom uncloses, That floodeth the soft-swelling sod With fragrance as rare as the roses That brighten the bosom of God, Then you know where the feet of my lover Pulse with a passion divine; And the heart of your heart hath, moreover, Part of the secret of mine. If you know where the robin no longer Remembers the nest on the hill, Where she tarries grown suddenly stronger- To catch a new chorus and trill, Then you know where the voice of my lover Rises in rapture divine; And the heart of your heart hath, moreover, Part of the secret of mine. FAGOTS. 31 If you know where I sit with my fingers Tangled up fair with the moon s, Keeping the twilight that lingers Tender with touches of tunes, Then you know where the heart of my lover Is, in this moment divine; And the heart of your heart hath, moreover, All the sweet secret of mine! 32 FAGOTS. TWO HOURS. A STORMY sea and a stormy sky, Winds a-shudder and ships ashore; And one alone where the waves are high, With a broken boat and a broken oar. A swift step ringing among the rocks; A quick cry crossing the angry seas; A lull in the terrible thunder shocks, And wild winds laden with prayers like these: " Turn to me, turn to me! What do you there Where Death is hidden, my love, my sweet ? Here are my lips for your nut-brown hair, Here is my heart for your snow-white feet. "God, God! if anywhere God may be When ships are sinking and true hearts break, Give, I pray Thee, give back to me My love, my love, for Thine own love s sake! " ii. A quiet sea and a quiet sky; Winds a-whisper and ships a-sail, And two together with no one nigh To hush the telling of love s old tale. FAGOTS. 33 Bird-songs echoing far and near; A whir of wings and a buzz of bees; Blue eyes bent to the waters clear And seraphine smiling at words like these: " Darling darling! This is the place And this is the hour you came to me, With your snow-white heart and snow-white face, Safe from my rival, the Blue-beard sea. " Say you are glad, dear." Did she reply? Over his bosom her bright hair fell; But the birds and the blue waves know, not I, Whatever her sweet lips dared to tell. 34 FAGOTS. HER LOVER. SINGING, she follows the winds out West, When the day fades fragrant and fair, And haply she finds him taking his rest, As of old, in the chintz-covered chair. Her ever-new lover Her ever-true lover Her brightest, her bravest, her best! And go the world over, She ll never discover A lover like him in the West! Softly she glides to him; lifts from his breast The paper, a score of times read, And the silver-bowed spectacles, loose on his vest, Laying her head there instead. For he is her lover Her ever-new lover Her brightest, her bravest, her best! And go the world over, She ll never discover A lover like him in the West! " My father! " she falters; her fair finger-tips A-sail on his beard s silver stream; And all the lost rubies return to her lips As he answers, " My child! " in his dream. FAGOTS. 35 Oh, he is her lover Her ever-true lover Her brightest, her bravest, her best! And go the world over, She ll never discover A lover like him in the West! " Dream on, dear, " she whispers; "for I, too, dream, In the twilight, down here by the sea; And it s better, I ween, than to walk in the gleam And the glitter that waiteth for me! For you are my lover My tender, true lover My brightest, my bravest, my best! And go the world over, There s none can discover A lover like mine in the West! " 36 FAGOTS. BARBARA. SHE sits in the twilight, busily knitting, The kitchen behind her is dingy and old, And up where the day-blind bats are flitting, You ll find the rafters covered with mold. But little of this is Barbara thinking; Her life has folded its dreariness up, And laid it away out of sight. She is drinking Now from an old-time memory cup. She is going, hand-in-hand, with her lover As true a lover as ever was born Up through a meadow of milk-white clover, Edging a valley of tasseling corn. The birds pipe low, and the winds pipe lower; The bees are busy among the blooms, And the feet of the brook go slower and slower On through the heart of the gathering glooms. And they love each other ! The world before them Lengthens away like a flowery lea, Sweeter to them than the heaven that s o er them, Fairer than ever that heaven may be. They love each other ! They walk together ! And what is there more of heaven, I pray, For those in the evermore summery weather, If Love would linger, or Time would stay ? FAGOTS. 37 But Time stays never for call or crying, And Barbara follows its quick tides on On and away where the rocks are lying That wreck and ruin at dark or dawn; And she kneels again, with her long hair over The bosom where never a pulse-beat is, Her hand on the dead-white hand of her lover, Her lips as numb and as dumb as his. Oh, Barbara! Barbara! Come back quickly, While you have life, from that memory- way; For ghosts of the old time glide there thickly, With smiles that stifle and swords that slay. Come back, and dream of a day-dawn breaking Over some beautiful land, somewhere, Where your feet will wander ere long, forsaking The shadowy shores of the world of care. Barbara! Barbara! Never she answers; Her hands lie, listlessly crossed, in her lap, And the wind the daintiest, dearest of dancers Comes from his revel and kisses her cap, Dropping down tenderly into her bosom, Where a heart lieth as heavy as lead, Odors of white clover, leaflet and blossom Barbara Barbara Allen is dead! 38 FAGOTS. "IN THE OLD LIKENESS." DOUGLASS, my Douglass, O hear how I cry to you, Facing your land of the lupine and palm! Hear how I cry to you, longing to fly to you From the cold heart of this comfortless calm. Call me, I pray, from the reeds where the robin, Swinging and singing alone to his mate, Stirs my slow pulse to a passionate sobbing For the home-lilies that grow by the gate. Oh! at the gate, love; Call, for I wait, love; Call, and I answer at breaking of day; Swift to your bosom, O er hillside and blossom, Breeze-like and bird-like, awake and away. Douglass, my Douglass, O hear how I cry to you! Leave me no longer so lorn and so lone; Call me your darling, and say I may fly to you, Never to leave you, O Douglass, mine own! Oh! if you heard the winds carry my sobbing Over the mountain and over the plain! Oh! if you heard my heart heavily throbbing, Under its burden of passion and pain! Now, at the gate, love; Call, for I wait, love; Call, and I answer at breaking of day; Swift to your bosom, O er hillside and blossom, Breeze-like and bird-like, awake and away. FAGOTS. 39 COME WITH THE SPRING WINDS AND BLOSSOMS. COME with the Spring winds and blossoms, my Violet! Starry-eyed Violet! tender and sweet! Come with the perfume of buds through the sunset; Come with the dews on your rose-tinted feet. Lean from the heart of the calm, little Blossom, As a star leans from the mystical blue To the black of a tempest, and over my bosom Drop the fine gold of your tresses anew. Come! On my rose-vines the sunset is lingering, Lighting the green leaf, and lighting the gray; And the fair Spirit of Silence is fingering All the white keys of the jubilant Day. Yet, can I lift for the Night s tender kisses, Lips that are red with the rare wine of song, And brows that are radiant, remembering blisses That throbbed through the heart of Aprils agone ? Remembering all your low laughter, and missing The tenderest notes from my life s broken psalm? Oh, Blossom! shine sweet through the night of my wishing, And lean to my heart from the heart of the calm. 40 FAGOTS. She comes with the Spring winds and blossoms, the Violet, Lost from the green of a morning ago, And held, like a lily, through all the white sunsets, Sleepily, dreamily, under the snow. She comes from the soul of the silence, my Blossom My starry-eyed Violet, tender and sweet! But Paradise-buds are too fair on her bosom The Paradise-dews are too bright on her feet. Too fair and too bright for a gaze that is human! It is not for me the sweet dawn of the day, And not for my hands the weak hands of a woman, To hold in their clasping, an angel astray. Still, still do I lift for the night s tender kisses, Lips that are red with the nectar of song, And brows that are radiant, remembering blisses Throbbed through the heart of the Aprils agone. And smiling to think how the dainty-faced Violet, Borne from the clay on a cherubic wing, Has oped her blue eyes far beyond the white sunset, And blossoms anew in the Paradise-Spring. FAGOTS. 41 NOTHING TO US. i. THE day is dark and the day is cold, Sing, my bonnie bird, sing! Sing loud and long, while into the wold The sea wind saileth so swift and bold, For it s nothing to us to you and to me That the day is dark as a day may be, And the wind but a biting thing. II. You know when the sun shines ? so do I ! Were my eyes blindfolded fast, And I alone in the clamor and cry Of a terrible storm that shook the sky And drowned the lilies and half-drowned me, I should know for my heart and my soul would see When the sun shone through at last. in. Come to my bosom, bonnie bright bird! I love you and he loves me! His story the truest that ever was heard I will tell you, my beautiful, word for word; Tell it softly and oftly, and often again, Till its meaning is plain to your heart and your brain, And you warble it back in glee. 42 FAGOTS. IV. The day is dark and the day is cold, But merrily, O, we ll sing! Sing loud and long while into the wold The sea wind saileth so swift and bold. For it s nothing to us to you and me That the day is dark as a day may be, And the wind but a biting thing. FAGOTS. DREAM BY THE SEA. I. PERHAPS it was only a dream Of something too sweet to be, But I saw you with eyes a-gleam Like the myriad eyes of the sea. And you looked not old, And you looked not cold, Your step it was firm and free; And the rose in your hand Was queen of the land Of roses a-bloom for me. ii. Surely I slept and dreamed! For you were a-nigh, a-nigh, And I knew you all that you seemed What time you were living a lie. And the rose in my hair, You had fastened it there; And my pulses were happy and high; For love it was new, And love it was true. And heaven was under the sky. in. There were words from the world apart; There was laughter of wind and wave; Till something struck at my heart, From the heart of the rose you gave. 43 44 FAGOTS. And lo! for a wonder, The wild storm and thunder, And moaning from many a grave; And the end of the dream! Then a new day s gleam, And spirits that shield and save. IV. And this is the song for me: Oh! sweet as a young babe s breath Is the beautiful, beautiful sea; But he wooeth a-down to death, And tenderness lies In his myriad eyes But treachery lurks beneath; And an arrowy dart For the delicate heart, Forever the sweet sea hath. v. A rose is a coveted thing, It is silken and soft and warm, It is fanned by the humming-bird s wing, It is fondled by sun and storm. We pluck it in blossom, And wear on the bosom Till, suddenly, faint with alarm, We snatch from our laces The gleam of its graces, And shake from its petals the worm. FAGOTS. 45 VI. True love is the loveliest thing That ever a life may know; Tis a child of the Paradise spring Let loose in the valleys below. Embrace him and bind him If once you but find him And sing in the sun and the snow; And smile on him purely And journey securely, Forever, wherever, you go. FAGOTS. YOU AND I KNOW. BLITHE little robbin, a-calling to me From your uppermost perch in my palmetto-tree: Is there anything sweeter, in all the sweet world, Than the quiet where your wings and my wings are furled ? ii. 1 lean to my lilies, yet listen to you, With face in the sunshine, with feet in the dew; And I answer you back again, singing, " O ho! Who cometh cheerily? You and I know." in. And what does it matter to you or to me That sorrow is somewhere on shoreland or sea ? We two are as safe as the stars are, my bird, And the whisper of want is a whisper unheard. IV. But somewhere the dark is! and somewhere the snows Are guarding the gravelets of lily and rose! No robin sings there; and the winds are as wild As the destiny waiting for Nobody s child. FAGOTS. 47 v. Yet sing, O my pretty one! Sing in the calm That holdeth and foldeth your perch in the palm! Let the notes flutter high, let the notes flutter low For never our one world is under the snow. VI. Honey-bees hide in its blossoming clover, Shaking the dainty dews under and over; Murmuring something too sweet for a name Summer and Winter time ever the same. VII. Look O my darling! Look over the hill, And see if one crosseth the bridge by the mill; For the rollicking breezes are suddenly grown Of tenderer touch and of tenderer tone; VIII. And I think ah, no matter! Sing, little bird, A melody sweeter than ever was heard; And / // answer merrily, shouting, "O ho! Who cometh cheerily? You and I know." 48 FAGOTS. MY LITTLE LOVE. i. MY little love, asleep so far, so far Beyond the hills I can not cross nor climb, Forgetting where the bees and wild birds are, And minding not the running river s rhyme I pray you, in the silences grown sweet And full of heaven since having you to hold, Dream that the wind hath kisses for your feet, Blown from my heart with blessings manifold. ii. The palms are proud above me! and I go, Singing, across the laughter-loving land, Yet saying, sometimes, with my voice dropped low: "If only she could wake and understand ! " It may be that my fancy runneth riot, Watching the wee birds peering from the nest; But O, it seemeth often in the quiet Your light breath rocks the roses on my breast. in. And so I say: " My love, awake so far Beyond the skies that yet I may not climb, I think you know where all my treasures are; I think you hold the meaning of my rhyme. I think you stand, this moment, warm and sweet, And reaching dimpled fingers as of old, To catch the kisses for your face and feet, Blown from my heart with blessings manifold." FAGOTS. 49 IV. And so I sing with brooks, and birds, and bees, Under the palms and where the pampa grows; Choosing my many friends from them and these And from wild winds that seek Sierra s snows. And so I wear the raiment of delight; And so I walk with glad, unfaltering feet; And so I wait, till, past the day and night, Finding my love, I find my life complete. 50 FAGOTS. PAUPERS. Two little hands and two little feet That never will weary again; Two soft eyes shut under lashes sweet God ! can I bear this pain ? Can I live with this pitiless sorrow Tearing my heart and head? Can I pray when the pitiless morrow Leaves me not even my dead ? They are merry there, where the bright lights are- Merry as merry can be. What do they care that the youngling s hair, Fluttering over my knee, Will never be rumpled and never be kissed By the warm young mouth of Spring That her cry on the street will never be missed, Or the song that she used to sing ? What do they care for a pauper ? Hark ! They are playing a favorite air; And in where the warmth is, in from the dark There is bread enough and to spare. One little crumb from their burdened board, One drop of their wasted wine, Had saved my child ! Oh, Lord ! oh, Lord ! Art lost in that heaven of Thine? FAGOTS. 51 The night grows deeper. The swift snows beat My bosom with dead- white hands; But, dull to their fury, I turn my feet To the spot where the old home stands. How happy it is ! And the daises grow Athirst for my lips light touch, Just as they did in the long ago Ah, child ! we have borne so much ! But never mind now. It is all, all past The hunger, the cold, the pain And the voice of my mother I hear at last A-singing an old refrain. How happy it is ! Lie close, my child; For, sheltered, and warm, and bright Forgetting the world that is wide and wild I think we shall sleep to-night ! 52 FAGOTS. WITH YOU. AN hour of hours and a time for dreaming, The slow sun sinking in a sea of mist; God s grace our own, and all his heaven seeming To near us through the fading amethyst. My hand in yours, I hear your words low spoken; "He leadeth you the way your darling went " And know them true by many a tender token, Trying for her sweet sake, to be content. And yet, somehow, the dead leaves drifting round us, The whispers in the hemlock and the fir, The very calm and quiet that have found us, Seem but to make me hungrier for her. Across the mountains sleep is sweet upon her; I would not loose his strong hold if I might; But oh, my friend, my friend, had death not won her, How changed to me were all the world to-night. If as in days I can not make seem olden, Facing the dark, I faced my darling, too, Feeling the fairness of her locks so golden, Feeling the fullness of her love so true, FAGOTS. 53 A something tenderer I could discover In all the touches of the tender wind; A something sweeter where my sweet thoughts hover, A something dearer in the dream behind. I try to think what the long years have brought her, The years since she was made so all-divine, What happy songs the angels may have taught her, To sing at morn and eve, instead of mine. I try to think how she will fly to meet me In some glad hour that may not be afar, And with what words of welcome she will greet me Beyond the valley where the shadows are. But thought so burdens! and the mother in me Cries for the clinging of the warm young mouth; The voice s call that from the grave could win me, The slow breath, sweeter than our own sweet South ; The nut-brown eyes filled over-full of laughter; The fine, gold tresses treasuring the light; Oh, friend ! how can I wait for the hereafter, That seems, for me, so far away to-night ? Forgive me! Tears are hot upon your lashes, And pain is hiding in your patient eyes; Yet I have brought you gold from out the ashes Of that one pure and priceless sacrifice. And heaven itself hath nothing worth the finding If I shall miss therefrom the hand I hold, And the calm presence that to-night is binding My life to earth as nothing could of old. 54 FAGOTS. WITH PANSIES. " THESE be for thoughts, my gentle friend," She said, and kissed the purple blooms, " For tenderest thoughts where dream-boughs bend To fold thee in their faint perfumes. Let swing and ring of marriage bells, Swift from the happy olden time, Be sweetest sound that sinks and swells Where roses rock and rivers rhyme. " Roses of rest thy heart hath known, Rivers of peace thy soul hath sailed Though many a happy hope is flown And many an anchorage has failed, I give thee joy, O gentle friend! " She said, and kissed each purple bloom, " God s love go with thee to the end, And on his bosom give thee room." FAGOTS. 55 WHAT SHALL I SAY? WHAT shall I say to you to-night, Oh, friend, whose face I can not see, Save as I keep it in the light Of " this lone lamp of memory " ? What little timid, trembling word, Whose meaning sweet is still so new, Shall I entrust to breeze or bird To bear across the night to you ? I catch from out the shadowy grass A sound of something glad and free, And turning, think to see you pass Along the way that winds to me And, radiant, 1 reach my hand To find the fairness of your own; But, ah! for silence hath the land That holds me in its heart alone. Alone, alone! Yet not alone, Since evermore one walks with me Whose closely-curtained, quiet throne Henceforth within my life shall be. I may not reach the reaching hand, I may not hear the pulses true, And yet along the happy land I walk for aye, my love, with you. 5 6 FAGOTS. And so the young bird o er my head, Dreaming, within her downy nest Of sweetnesses as yet unshed Upon her little patient breast, Knows not so dear a dream as I That lean with violet-scented hair And languid lips, that smile and sigh, T ward the low lattice where you are. And so I softly say to-night, O, friend, whose face I can not see Save as I watched it "by the light Of this lone lamp of memory" Say o er and o er each tender word Born of my love so sweetly new, Trusting some blessed breeze or bird To bear them through the night to you. FAGOTS. 57 JOHNNY AND I. WE were barefooted children together, Driving the Alderney cows, In the witching and wonderful weather Familiar with perfumes and plows. There was Bessie, and Beauty, and Brindle, And Fanny as fleet as a deer, With eyes that would color and kindle Whenever we children were near. There was Daisy, the darling, and Whitefoot Watching each way for the calf Pat had murdered that morning and Lightfoot, Whose capers always made us laugh. And Johnny and I, and the seven Sleek milkers the Alderney cows Cared nothing, just then, for a heaven That had not its pastures and plows. " I wish," Johnny said and a brittle Old bramble broke under his feet " I wish you would always stay little, And brown as a bird, and as sweet! For you are so good and so jolly, You can make me whatever you try, And you love me, to-day, little Mollie " "And I ll love you to-morrow! " said I. 5 8 FAGOTS. " Ah, yes; but you ll be a fine lady " Poor Johnny was thumbing his knife " And but yesterday, Ichabod Brady Said something bout you for a wife." "Bout me, for a wife? " "And I hate him! My bonnie boy -lover broke in. " If I weren t too little to mate him, I d flog him to death for a pin." 11 Now, Johnny," said I, with a flutter Of heart that my heart could not ken, And not a word more could I utter, For the rogue he was kissing me then; And the Alderney cows they were cropping The grasses way down by the brook, Not human enough for eaves-dropping, Nor ever once turning to look. From the pasture two children together Are coming up slow with the cows, In the witching and wonderful weather, Familiar with perfumes and plows. There s a Beauty, a Bessie, a Brindle, But they are the young of the kine, Whose eyes have forgotten to kindle; The children are Johnny s and mine. FAGOTS. 59 AT THE GATE. "TROUBLE her not" I heard them say " With crying and beseeching, She goeth God s appointed way To God s own arms upreaching. Let quiet compass all the space This side the gate unclosing, And smile to see the growing grace On lip and brow reposing." And so the end is come, for which We two have cried together O heart of mine! so poor, so rich, So tired of changeful weather; And here we part, who long have been The truest of true lovers, Thou for the willows waving green, And sleep where silence hovers. For me I trust, yet can not know The Father s dispensation, Perchance to penance I shall go, Perchance to compensation. But thou shalt rest! Above thy bed The grasses shall be growing, And roses nodding, white and red, And poppy-buds a-blowing. 60 FAGOTS. Good-bye, my heart! I seem to hear A sound of bells a-ringing, And far away yet drawing near, A child s seraphic singing. Good-bye, good-bye sweetheart of mine! Thou truest friend and lover; I hear the call of Love divine And life, with thee, is over. FAGOTS. 61 MY GIRL. HARK to the wind that passes, Hailing the hills " Heigh-ho! " See how the long lawn grasses Shine in the sunset glow! The palm trees, stately and strong and tall, Are guarding the gates of the garden wall, While over and under and all about The roses are whispering in and out " Oh, she is near to us! Oh, she is dear to us! " Sighing with envy of me, Dying with envy of me. For the maiden sitting and singing there, With goldenrod in her golden hair, The maiden dainty and dear and fair, Is mine my girl! II. Hark to the sea that crieth, Missing the winds that creep Low where my one love lieth, Singing still in her sleep! The moonlight stealeth under the stars, To brighten the blooms at her casement bars; And something stirs, in an answering way, The pulse of the palms where I kneel and pray: 62 FAGOTS. " Let her be near to Thee, Let her be dear to Thee, Thou that lovest us all, Thou that provest us all! Be mine the sorrow for love s own sake; Be mine the burden for two to take; Let my heart hunger and ache and break, But spare my girl! " in. And, when her dream is over Under the skies soft blue, When never for friend or lover Is anything left to do; When care is quiet and souls are free To sail as a ship on an unknown sea; To soar as a bird or to shine as a star, Where Life s interpreted mysteries are, O by the mother-love Wiser than other love; By the pain plead for me, By the blood shed for me, Under the palm trees stately and tall, Guarding the gates of the jasper wall; Where Love s own scepter is over all Give me my girl! FAGOTS. 63 MARGUERITE. SHE made on the upland a picture that never an artist could paint, Sandled with sheen of a sunset crowned with the calm of a saint. Her face from the face of her lover turned, touched with a breath from the sea: Her heart held the words of her lover: " The cup is most bitter for me! " The cup is most bitter ? " she echoed. I know- it, O tenderest friend; And the way stretches darkly before you; but you will go straight to the end, " " To the end? and what then?" all the doubt of his soul surging into his tone "Missing you, though I journey with angels, I journey forever alone!" "You ll not miss me," she said smiling softly, her eyes on the opal afar, Their light burning steadily, clearly, as once burned the Bethlehem star, And all her poor, pitiful pallor that told its own story of strife, Flushing warmly, as if for an instant some seraph had kissed it to life. 64 FAGOTS. "Dear friend, you ll not miss me since fetters were fashioned for only the clay Since love is immortal as God is since we two are wedded for aye. "You go where the night is, and with you a sorrow more deathful than death; But you follow the white feet of Duty your hand in the white hand of Faith. "And you will bear bravely the tempest of agonies sharper then hail, Nor shrink from the sands of the desert nor falter where others would fail. "For you are my hero, beloved, my king among cowards of men And the time is not long to the sunrise; wait, work and be brave until then." "You walk with the angels, my darling you echo their music, " he said, A smile on his lips, such as lingers sometimes on the lips of the dead. And so, on the upland, they parted; dim shadows stole into the skies; Only the chill of her fingers answered the prayer in his eyes. FAGOTS. 65 FOR LOVE S SWEET SAKE. HERE, where the waves make answer To every wind that calls, Where the sea-birds bide When the ebbing tide Leaveth the weed- wound walls, Where the hours are fleet And the hours are sweet, And life like a loveful song, He made me a bower Of fern and of flower, And hid me a whole day long. O, but we heard the waters Mocking the moveless ships! And we saw, in a dream, The glow and the gleam Of myriad, musical lips That stirred in the shade, The lily leaves made Neither asleep nor awake And no one was near To harm or to hear If he kissed me for Love s sweet sake. So, he kissed me! Whisper it softly Windlets never asleep! Till all the white clover Hears over and over My secret too sweet to keep; 66 FAGOTS. Till all the green grasses The meadow-brook passes, And all the bright blooms of the brake, Are glad and are gay, For forever and aye, That he kissed me for Love s sweet sake. This is the bower he built me! Dainty and dear it is, With song of the sea, Of bird and of bee Woven with song of his, And filling my breast With infinite rest Whether I sleep or wake; While my lips laugh low, "All, the saints may know He kissed me for Love s sweet sake! " FAGOTS. 67 A WISE WAIF. THE winds were sweet in the hawthorn hedge, And the lilies bent in a beautiful dream To the reeds that swung in the shadowy edge Of a gnarled old forest s musical stream; And everywhere, everywhere Love laughed low, When, taking her brown hand, Algernon said. "Kiss me, dear Ethel, before I go; For I ll love you forever, living or dead!" Over the red of the maiden s lips A rare smile rippled, then passed away, As softly she answered: "Where go the ships, You go, my friend, for a year and a day. And I that thrill at the lightest sound O your step on the sward, or your voice on the wind, That love and live for you will not be bound By sign or by token, and will not bind. "For how can I know, though we smile or sigh, That our love is true, since our love is new ? Since simply a waif o the woods am I, Since surely a man of the world are you ? But if, till the hedge is in blossom again, Your heart in its homage remains the same, Come to me! I ll wait i the sun or the rain; And I ll give you a kiss when you give me your name. " 68 FAGOTS. The year and the day went tardily by; The birds were again in the hawthorn hedge, And the lilies bent, with never a sigh, To the reeds that rocked in the brooklet s edge; For, fair in the flush of a roseate day, Loving with never a chance for blame Ethel and Algernon passed that way, And he claimed her kiss, for she bore his name. FAGOTS. DOWERED. A WIND came this morning from over the river And brought me a legion of things To be hidden and hidden, forever and ever, Away under memory s wings. And I with my tresses blown fuller of sweetness Than ever the lips of the sea, Leaned over my casement in rapture s complete ness, To take what he gave unto me. ii. There were whispers of waters and little wild snatches Of songs sung alow to a shore, Where, dreaming and dreaming, a young lover watches For one who returns nevermore. There were promises broken and fragments of speeches And something that sounded like tears; A-dripping and dripping down over the beeches That keep all the secrets of years. 70 FAGOTS. in. And yet, oh, and yet, as I listened and listened, I caught the light laughter of leaves That swung in the sunshine, that glistened and glis tened O er swallows asleep in the eaves; The eaves of a cottage where, climbing and climb ing, The jessamine bloomed as of old, When I sat in its shadow a-rhyming and rhyming About the young butter-cups gold. IV. And over and over the meadows of clover And hill-tops so green and so grand, I wandered again with my lover, my lover, The bonniest lad in the land, Forgetting the fire, the famine, the fever, Forgetting the torture of tears " Give love, and love only, forever and ever! " I cried to the manifold years, v. To the manifold years that were leaning unto us From arches of splendor afar, And happily, happily, seeking to woo us Where never the red roses are. Sweet was the dreaming no matter what came of it- Sweet was the tasseling corn; Sweet was the something! no matter the name of it- Heard by the merry May morn. FAGOTS. 71 VI. Ah! softly and softly, down over the river, Droop the dark shadows to-night! But all the wild willows they shiver and shiver As if they were stricken of fright! And I with my tresses blown fuller of sadness Than ever the lips of the sea Lean over my casement to phantoms of gladness, And take what they give unto me. 72 FAGOTS. BEFORE THE BALL. I AM here in the purple, black twilight; My room as you left it remains; The pictures, the fountain, the flowers; The gas is unlighted; it rains; And the wind thro my half-open shutters Cries lonesome and low to me, dear, As I cry to you through the darkness. Listen, my love! Do you hear ? Do you sit as I sit, with a wonder Growing up rank in your heart A tare in the grain that is tasseled Why we too are praying apart ? Do you lean as I lean, at this moment From darkness to darkness, and say, " O spirit of Infinite Goodness Be good to my darling, I pray! " Ah, well! Over there in the corner I can see by the fire s faint light, The robe of most delicate amber That I am to dance in to-night. There s garniture gorgeous a snow-shine Of pearls and of point applique"; And yet, O I m wild for the daises That darken the hills far away! FAGOTS. 73 I want the light lips of the lilies On my lips that quiver and ache, All the white bright lips of the lilies That border our own happy lake. And I want you, O darling of darlings! O, one world of all worlds mine own! I want you to laugh or to cry to And still O, and still, I m alone. They are lighting the myriad burners At Hasselman s over the way; The crowd is beginning to gather; The band is beginning to play; Hark! What a throbbing and sobbing Of melody tender and sweet, Stirs the pulse of the rose on my bosom Till it sinks in a swoon at my feet. Hark again! O the musical army That climbs the cold steps of the air To storm the stronghold of my spirit It gives not a minute for prayer. It has me and holds me, a captive Despite all my wish and my will Afar from the lake and the lilies Afar from the daisy-decked hill. Yet, somehow, it brings you the nearer, And the dark grows suddenly light; The heart of our bird in his prison, Like mine, has forgotten the night. 74 FAGOTS. The fountain flows freer; the flowers Seem swinging in sweetnesses new; And all of earth fades from the Heaven That comes with the music and you. FAGOTS. 75 THROUGH THE SNOW. ONE April sunset, singing with the streams, I sought upon a happy hill-side slope A spot that I had dreamed of in the dreams Of years kept calm by memory and hope. A dainty dimple in the dear hill s breast As I remembered it for aye had been, A dainty dimple by the winds caressed My secret folded with its fairness in. Laughing a-low I leaned there parted the wet Bare boughs that bent beside me where I stood, And said, " Ah, surely I shall here forget The famine and the fever! God is good." A sudden start a catching of the breath A quick down-dropping of the hands, for lo, A stillness in the hollow as of death, And over all its perfectness the snow. Prone to the ground (the angels pitying me) I fell the waving, wondering boughs between, Clung there and cried, " Ah God! that this should be, When all my heart was hungry for the green. 76 FAGOTS. " I can not, can not bear it ! " From my breath The frail snows faded, feverish and wet, And round me floated from the world beneath, The longed for fragrance of a violet. So, to the snow of all your words my friend, Found in the letter that before me lies, My soul leans crying, "Christ! is this the end? " And lo, the spirit of your sacrifice Folds every fear in fragrance! and I see (With eyes that laugh, albeit their lids are wet,) Ever alive and ever fair to me The royal purple of Love s violet. FAGOTS. AWAY FROM ME. Do you find the heaven I can not reach, So beautiful, O my sweet! That ever in vain the sea-swept beach I search for your small white feet ? Or is it, my love, that the angels there Whom neither I know nor see, Finding you fairer than all the fair Hold you away from me ? mine, my own ! If I had you back In the poor place over my heart, 1 think I could tread the thorniest track And never a tear would start. I think I could welcome the wildest storm; Could laugh, though the whole world wept, If you were but nestling safe and warm Where once you nestled and slept. But the raindrops dimple the waves, my dear, And I am alone, alone, Listing the croak of the ravens near, And wishing my heart were stone, For it aches so under its velvet vest, And dies yet never is dead And it can not rise and it can not rest, Missing your fair, young head. 78 FAGOTS. A LESSON. " WAIL your wild notes over and over, Bonnie bright bird in the sycamore tree; For long, too long, like an unloved lover, Has the wind been teasing and torturing me! I am a-weary of working and weeping; Sing me to quiet and sing me to sleeping; Let your low numbers float lightly to me, Bonnie bright bird in the sycamore tree ! " Thus, in the shadows, prayed a lone maiden, Leaning her face from the bosom of care, While the wind, sweetly and heavily laden, Braided his heather-breath in with her hair. Lost was the light from her life that was dreary; Lost were the smiles from her eyes that were teary; Never a true thing to treasure had she The fair maiden under the sycamore tree. Down from the dark boughs fluttered the robin, Furling his wings on the folds of her vest; "Kindred are we, dear," murmured she, sobbing Over a death-wound she found in his breast. Still, in his agony, singing and singing, Never his wild way again to be winging, Seeming as happy as happy could be, Died the bright bird neath the sycamore tree. FAGOTS. 79 DERELICTUS. " IN the noonday sun I am faint, I am blind ! " A pale little Blossom said; "Where are the lips of my lover, the Wind, To kiss me back from the dead ? " He is so loyal, so tender and true; He dwells by the singing sea; And swift he would haste if he knew if he knew For he loves no one but me! " Kneeling, I whispered: " Beautiful flower, Cling to your beautiful faith! For oh, it will gladden your life s last hour, And sweeten the way to death ! " But aside : " Ah, pretty, forgotten flower! Tis better to cease to be; For your lover wooes in the Rose s bower, With never a thought of thee! " 8o FAGOTS. WHERE THE TIDAL WAVES COME IN. IF you and I were together now Where the tidal waves come in; With breast to bosom and brow to brow And a low, low murmuring If we had forgotten, as they forget, The dark and the dreary day, The wailing of winds all wild and wet And whatever they chose to say If much was to ask and much to reply How would the talk begin, If you and I were together now Where the tidal waves come in ? ii. I think the spirits that, long and far, Have struggled in pain and tears, To find and enter the "gates ajar " And the rest of roseate years, Stand still and dumb when the new life first Leaps, thrilling, from vein to vein, Crowding the old with its best and worst Forever from heart and brain; So we, my darling, though brow to brow, Could scarcely our speech begin, If we were together, together now Where the tidal waves come in. FAGOTS. 81 ALWAYS. IF from your lips, my friend, that one small word Fell through the glooms that girdle me to-night, Fell, rounding " I shall need you," like a bird, My life, I think, would climb to clearest light, Forgot, for aye, were all the cruel tides That cast me, broken, on a barren coast; Forgot, for aye, all earth save that which bides In the safe heaven that I long for most. Around me in the fair and fragrant space Floats the low trilling of a twilight tune, But from its heart I fail to catch the grace Of dawns that darkened when the month was June. I hear, as one held close in dusky dreams, The blue waves bounding to the beaten sands, But calm comes not! for, reaching through the gleams Of moon and star, I can not find your hands. And yet, dear friend, not all the leagues, unlit, Lying this side the land for which I pray, Can hold me from you wholly! You will sit Sometimes, I think, your sweet eyes turned this way, 82 FAGOTS. And through the calms that cover you, a note Of some low song I sing beside the sea, Breeze-like and bird-like to your soul will float, Waking the wonder of a cry for me. And dreams will haunt you ever. Dreams that bear On their light wings the tint of tender rest Of rosy rest that waiteth for us where The ways wind closely at the soul s behest. O, blessed dreams! And yet, if one small word Fell through the glooms that girdle me to-night, Fell, rounding "I shall need you," like a bird, How would my life soar, singing to the light! FAGOTS. 83 HOMEWARD. " MY poor, poor eyes they are blind with tears, And I can not work! " she said, Tossing aside her thimble and shears, And winding her spools of thread. The riotous wind with her roses stayed A-wooing, a-wooing long; The swallow she slept all undismayed, And her dreams they were sweet with song. But the lady lay on her pillow white, White as a ghost lay she, Speeding her soul on a lonely flight To her lover afar at sea. ii. "The night is drunken with drear alarm And I can not sleep! " she said, Tossing the snow of a weary arm On the gold of a weary head. The velvety roses foolish things! A-nodding, a-nodding were To the wind a-furling his wanton wings, Where the lilies were all astir. 84 FAGOTS. But the lady lay at her lattice low, Low as the land lay she, With every beat in her breast a blow For her lover afar at sea. in. " My blood is fire, my breath is flame, And I can not live! " she said, Wailing the words of her lover s name, As if he were doomed and dead. The beautiful ship went under the moon, A-sailing, a-sailing on To the wayward time of a wayward tune, Till the half world met the dawn. And the lady leaned to her roses sweet, Sweet as a rose leaned she, Hearing the sound of her lover s feet And happy of heart as he. FAGOTS. 85 LAST WORDS. AT sunset of to-morrow you will stand, Dear friend, with sweet eyes turning back to me, Remembering how you stood and held my hand In this sad hour by the sadder sea. We have few words at parting you and I A little smiling of unquiet lips, Some common-places and a low good-bye With eyes upon the far-off, fading ships- Are all that could be told of if the world Told all to-morrow; all there is to tell. The mists of meeting round about us curled But yesterday; to-day? no matter! it is well. ii. You go to brave life s battle for us both; To bear the burden and the heat of years That leaning from the far-away, seem loth To yield us fruits not nurtured by our tears. There may be calms and comforts manifold Lying beneath what seems to us to-day, The blackness of a bitterness untold Shrouding the sweets of many a bloomful May. We can not know. We touch poor palms and part In this sad, sunset hour you and I Some struggling cries held silent in the heart And on the lip a simple, slow "good-bye! " 86 FAGOTS. AFTER YEARS. WASN T it neat, though, the cottage where clam bered Roses the reddest that ever you knew ? And wasn t it sweet, though, the wild way we wandered Over the hill where the strawberries grew ? And didn t you weave me a girdle of grasses Weaving a kiss in with every link ? And didn t you leave rne the gladdest of lasses When you went down to the spring for a drink. Oh, but the blue-birds went singing and singing Into the heart of the daisied dells! Oh, but your new words went ringing and ringing Into my heart like a flutter of bells! Oh, but you loved me, you said! and my blushes Rivaled the strawberries under our feet, And oh, but you proved me your own in the hushes Of the May morning so tender and sweet! But wasn t it queer, though, how our young passion Faded away like a frolicksome snow ? For weren t you dear, though (after a fashion), Just for a little short summer or so ? FAGOTS. 87 Laughing a little, I toy with my laces (Real, with a clasping of diamonds, dear), Thinking how brittle are ties to old places Thinking how mighty the bonds that are here. And who is to blame now for all the sweet folly ? You are the king of a castle; and I Would say, if you came now Wasn t it jolly, The olden-time dreaming, forever gone by ? For what needs a woman but jewels and laces, And station to make all her living divine ? No matter how human the cry for old places, It can not be heard in this kingdom of mine! FAGOTS. BIJOU. LITTLE Bijou, walking nearer To the angels far than I, Come across the moonlit spaces To the shadows where I lie, And with lips the Christ has clung to Tell me something sweet and true, For my reaching hands are weary, And my heart is weary, too. Battle-stained and heavy-burdened I am facing up the night, Catching breath and calling to you From the pauses of the fight. Come, and let my fevered fingers Find your tresses free and fair, Till my life can lean to comfort From the fastnesses of care. Come, and let me watch the glory Growing in your wondrous eyes, Sweeter far than song or story Of Italia s sunset skies. Come, and say if in your dreaming By the happy, haunted sea You have ever seen the maiden Whom the angels keep for me. FAGOTS. 89 I have heard her garments rustling Round me in the lonesome nights, And have felt my pulses leaping, To the life of old delights. But I could not see the shining Of her beauty-beaming eyes, Though my wailing must have compassed All the heights of Paradise. Lean a little nearer, Bijou! Do not look so white and wild; I am ghostly in the darkness, But I could not harm a child. For the battle not yet over I would only stronger stand, For the clasping and the clinging Of a little maiden s hand. And you walk so near the angels, All their secrets you must know; You can tell me if she loves me As she loved me long ago. You can tell me Hark! the rising And the ringing battle-call. Kiss me, Bijou! Rest is over. There, my darling, that is all! 90 FAGOTS. LOST. i. THE white sails come, and the white sails go, And the days drift to and from me, And happiest sprites of Autumnal nights Drop silverest dews upon me. But never my pulses leap and thrill When the tell-tale zephyr passes, At sound of thy laugh in the boat s bright path, Or sound of thy feet in the grasses. ii. But over the glitter of goldenest bars, When the winds of my life blow chilly, My heart flutters back in a shadowy track, To the land of the rose and the lily. And once, once again, O beloved! away Over billow and blossoming heather, Beside the low streams we are dreaming our dreams, And weaving our life-hopes together. in. Ah, darling! my face, with its quivering lips, Shut close o er a storm of sighing, Leans whitely adown the green hills where the crown Of my life, with its glory, is lying. FAGOTS. 91 And the white sails come, and the white sails go, And the wind sings on as it passes, For lost is thy laugh from the boat s bright path, And gone are thy feet from the grasses. 92 FAGOTS. HER ANSWER. GOOD-BYE! There have been tears, and kisses; These are my last. No more a- wail for summer-bloom, and blisses Long ago past Stand I a-near the winter with its snowing Hard in my face; Blind, breathless, groping in the dark, yet knowing This is my place. Good-bye! God s hand upon my shadowed vision, Soon will give light Somewhere, the break of day that is elysian Waits for my night. Shall I because my life s one dream is over, Shrink from life s toil, Crying because I can not scent the clover Sweet from the soil ? Nay, nay! I were unworthy Heaven s high keeping, Could this be so; Dumb as the dead, and cold yet without weeping, Whitely I go. No bird, upon the bough above me, singing At Love s behest; No star its radiance to my pathway flinging Still it is best! FAGOTS. 93 Good-bye! Thine is the cup, the song, the revel (Mine is the pain!) God keep thee from the sorrow and the evil Found in their train. Turn I unto my winter with its snowing Hard in my face; Blind, breathless, groping in the dark, yet knowing This is my place. 94 FAGOTS. HAUNTING THE HOLLOW. DROOPING sad eyes to the snow-covers lying Over a hollow that heard not our words, Walked we but yesterday, gloomily crying " O for the sound of the singing of birds! " "O for the olden-time splendor of spaces Round us and over us, summery sweet! O for the olden-time winds on our faces! O for the olden-time blooms at our feet! " Lifting glad eyes to the glory of arches Daintily dotted by song-burdened birds, Walk we to-day, keeping time to the marches Of the warm, wanton winds, wild as our words. Walk we with pulses that beat to the beating Of the quick river that cries to the sea; " Room in thy bosom! And give me thy greeting, For my world- walls are too narrow for me. " All the old wailing of winter forgotten; All the old snow-covers folded away; Crowned with a splendor of springtime begotten Haunt we the heart of the hollow to-day. FAGOTS. 95 O SUMMER, DEAR SUMMER. O SUMMER, where are you? What voice do you follow, Singing or sighing through regions unknown ? What luminous height or what desolate hollow Laughs to your laughter or moans to your moan? What fetters of living or dying enthrall you? What hath you in silence that gladdens or grieves ? What strange thing enamors ? that vainly I call you To come to and comfort your children the Leaves! n. Is there no wind to your gloom or your gleaming, Bearing the breath of their pitiful prayers ? Lonely they lie under boughs that are dreaming Of new loves already, forgetful of theirs. And you were so tender ! You loved as none other All the dear days that the robins made sweet; You robed them and rocked them; you are their mother, Yet, far from your bosom, they die at my feet. in. Have I of comfort a little to give them, I, with a frost on my hair and my heart ? Nay! though I love, as I surely outlive them, Comfort is not of my power a part 96 FAGOTS. Only your singing can call back the flushes, If flushes come ever, to lives that you gave; And you are as still as my love in the hushes, That rule all the wonderful world of the grave! IV. O Summer, dear Summer! the Winter is weaving For your lost little ones pillow and pall, And somewhere, ah, somewhere, I think you are grieving That over them even your tears may not fall. Gone are the robins to haunts that I know not; Under a cold cloud everything grieves; Snows are a-flutter where sunshine may go not Over the graves of your childern, the Leaves. FAGOTS. 97 WHEN THE SHADOWS COME AGAIN. WHEN the shadows come again Over hill and over plain, Creeping through the lattice bars Where I wait to watch the stars; When again within his ring Bonnie bird forgets to sing Wooed from riot unto rest By the dark upon his breast, I shall listen, O my sweet! To the coming of your feet, Saying, "Soft! He hunts the hall, And he loves me! " That is all. When the shadows come again Over hill and over plain, Purpling all the plaited hair, You have called so fine and fair; When, o er all our little world, Is the wing of Night unfurled. I shall feel my pulses rise Past the height of Paradise, List ning, leaning, O my King! To the vows you say and sing; Praying, "Angels! do not call, For he loves me! " That is all. 98 FAGOTS. When the shadows come again Over hill and over plain, In the land of the forgiven In th garden name"d Heaven Fairest of the saintly fair, With white lilies in her hair; With her girdle golden-barred; With her sandles silver-starred, One will walk beside the river That flows on and on forever, Praying, " Let no ill befall For I love them!" That is all. FAGOTS. 99 ELLEANORE. WHERE a sycamore bent to a river s edge, At the foot of a flowery hill, And birds swung slow in the swinging sedge, With their songs all hushed and still, With silences over her lips apart, With somebody s portrait over her heart, With nothing to trouble and nothing to task, Nothing to answer and nothing to ask, F a i r as the fading out of the day Under the waters asleep she lay. Out from the woodland crept the Dark, With his face all wild and wet, And close by the sycamore stood to hark To the Wind s and the Waves regret. " O, she was my darling! " the River cried; And " She was my darling! " the Wind replied; And the Dark responded, " She was my love! "And nothing was like her, below or above," And, all together, "Alas! " they said, " What is there left us ? the queen is dead! " And still, with the portrait over her heart, And the blue-black waves above, The maiden slept, with her lips apart, As if in a dream of love. ioo FAGOTS. But dreams were over and dreams were done; And the moon crept off in the wake of the sun; And the owlets shrieked and the Wind replied, And the desolate Dark to the River cried, And nobody sorrowed and nobody said: " What is there left me ? my love is dead! " FAGOTS. 101 IN THE .WALTZ. A TENDER tune and a time in trance, Glitter of glasses and wealth of wine, And afloat, afloat in a dreamy dance, With the face of my Baronet close to mine. His glances, that rival the gaslight gleams, Burning and burning my lids away; But I hear his whisper, as one in dreams, And my lips have never a word to say. For round and round, as we whirl and whirl, Under the banners and blooms between, I see but billows, that curl and curl Round capes of memory fair and green; And again, again, in a radiant time, My hand in yours, that is kind and true, I fly from the measures, that climb and climb, Away from the dancers, alone with you. And softly and softly up over the bay Comes the full moon, with her face so new, A-laughing and laughing at something you say, And something I answer! and we laugh, too; For life is alive and love is awake; The moon it is high and the wind is low; You give me a kiss and a kiss you take, And there s nobody, nobody nigh to know. 102 FAGOTS. A tender tune and a time in trance, Glitter of glasses and wealth of wine, And I, a-wail for the one romance I lived in a life that was half divine! The Baronet s jewels are over rny heart, The Baronet s name I honor and wear; But love " is a thing from our lives apart," And neither is cruel enough to care. PRESS NOTICES The sixth annual convention of the Pacific Coast Woman s Press Association was held at San Jose, Sep tember 8th and gth. Mrs. Hester Benedict Dickinson was chosen president The P. C. W. P. A. is composed of genuine literary workers, many of whom have achieved a brilliant reputation, and among these the new president has a high place. She has published two vol umes of poetry, "Vesta" and " Fagots." She now has a volume of prose ready for the press. Mrs. Dickison is described as a woman of great culture and many charms. She was formerly a resident of New York, and in touch with the leading writers of the metropolis. She has been a contributor to many of the leading peri odicals of the country. Buffalo Times. Two volumes of poems by Hester A. Benedict have attracted the flattering criticism of reviewers and readers, "Vesta" being the first one placed upon the literary market. " Fagots," published recently, is a collection which reflects the delicate imaginings of the author s fancy and the sweet womanly depth of a warmly sym pathetic nature. Pacific Town Talk. The book "Vesta" is full of passages of rare beauty for poems of the day. It is the best that we have known issued for years from the pen of an American woman. Louisville Courier- Journal. The poems are brimful of gentle sympathy ; they stir and refresh the heart like a summer breeze. * * * The volume is bright from first to last. In fact there is not a dull line in it. California Christian Advocate. There is good stuff and no rotten sticks in these " Fagots." Cleveland Plain Dealer. The poems are in many measures, all of which the author seems to handle with equal skill. Sun Francisco Chronicle. Hester A. Benedict s latest effort more than sustains her early reputation. "Fagots" is not only a finished literary production, but the song she sings comes from he heart. St. Paul Morning Call. YB UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY