New Poems
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New Poems - Robert Louis Stevenson - 1918 edition
Scanned and proofed by David Price, email
ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
New Poems
CONTENTS
PRAYER
LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ
THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE
MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACKBIRD SINGS
I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR
ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER
DEDICATION
THE OLD CHIMAERAS, OLD RECEIPTS
PRELUDE
THE VANQUISHED KNIGHT
TO THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS
THE RELIC TAKEN, WHAT AVAILS THE SHRINE?
ABOUT THE SHELTERED GARDEN GROUND
AFTER READING "ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA"
I KNOW NOT HOW, BUT AS I COUNT
SPRING SONG
THE SUMMER SUN SHONE ROUND ME
YOU LOOKED SO TEMPTING IN THE PEW
LOVE'S VICISSITUDES
DUDDINGSTONE
STOUT MARCHES LEAD TO CERTAIN ENDS
AWAY WITH FUNERAL MUSIC
TO SYDNEY
HAD I THE POWER THAT HAVE THE WILL
O DULL COLD NORTHERN SKY
APOLOGETIC POSTSCRIPT OF A YEAR LATER
TO MARCUS
TO OTTILIE
THIS GLOOMY NORTHERN DAY
THE WIND IS WITHOUT THERE AND HOWLS IN THE TREES
A VALENTINE'S SONG
HAIL! CHILDISH SLAVES OF SOCIAL RULES
SWALLOWS TRAVEL TO AND FRO
TO MESDAMES ZASSETSKY AND GARSCHINE
TO MADAME GARSCHINE
MUSIC AT THE VILLA MARINA
FEAR NOT, DEAR FRIEND, BUT FREELY LIVE YOUR DAYS
LET LOVE GO, IF GO SHE WILL
I DO NOT FEAR TO OWN ME KIN
I AM LIKE ONE THAT FOR LONG DAYS HAD SATE
VOLUNTARY
ON NOW, ALTHOUGH THE YEAR BE DONE
IN THE GREEN AND GALLANT SPRING
DEATH, TO THE DEAD FOR EVERMORE
TO CHARLES BAXTER
I WHO ALL THE WINTER THROUGH
LOVE, WHAT IS LOVE?
SOON OUR FRIENDS PERISH
AS ONE WHO HAVING WANDERED ALL NIGHT LONG
STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF MEN
THE WIND BLEW SHRILL AND SMART
MAN SAILS THE DEEP AWHILE
THE COCK'S CLEAR VOICE INTO THE CLEARER AIR
NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY YEARS
WHAT MAN MAY LEARN, WHAT MAN MAY DO
SMALL IS THE TRUST WHEN LOVE IS GREEN
KNOW YOU THE RIVER NEAR TO GREZ
IT'S FORTH ACROSS THE ROARING FOAM
AN ENGLISH BREEZE
AS IN THEIR FLIGHT THE BIRDS OF SONG
THE PIPER
TO MRS. MACMARLAND
TO MISS CORNISH
TALES OF ARABIA
BEHOLD, AS GOBLINS DARK OF MIEN
STILL I LOVE TO RHYME
LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE
FLOWER GOD, GOD OF THE SPRING
COME, MY BELOVED, HEAR FROM ME
SINCE YEARS AGO FOR EVERMORE
ENVOY FOR "A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES"
FOR RICHMOND'S GARDEN WALL
HAIL, GUEST, AND ENTER FREELY!
LO, NOW, MY GUEST
SO LIVE, SO LOVE, SO USE THAT FRAGILE HOUR
AD SE IPSUM
BEFORE THIS LITTLE GIFT WAS COME
GO, LITTLE BOOK - THE ANCIENT PHRASE
MY LOVE WAS WARM
DEDICATORY POEM FOR "UNDERWOODS"
FAREWELL
THE FAR-FARERS
COME, MY LITTLE CHILDREN, HERE ARE SONGS FOR YOU
HOME FROM THE DAISIED MEADOWS
EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR PIANO
FAIR ISLE AT SEA
LOUD AND LOW IN THE CHIMNEY
I LOVE TO BE WARM BY THE RED FIRESIDE
AT LAST SHE COMES
MINE EYES WERE SWIFT TO KNOW THEE
FIXED IS THE DOOM
MEN ARE HEAVEN'S PIERS
THE ANGLER ROSE, HE TOOK HIS ROD
SPRING CAROL
TO WHAT SHALL I COMPARE HER
WHEN THE SUN COMES AFTER RAIN
LATE, O MILLER
TO FRIENDS AT HOME
I, WHOM APOLLO SOMETIME VISITED
TEMPEST TOSSED AND SORE AFFLICTED
VARIANT FORM OF THE PRECEDING POEM
I NOW, O FRIEND, WHOM NOISELESSLY THE SNOWS
SINCE THOU HAST GIVEN ME THIS GOOD HOPE, O GOD
GOD GAVE TO ME A CHILD IN PART
OVER THE LAND IS APRIL
LIGHT AS THE LINNET ON MY WAY I START
COMIC, HERE IS ADIEU TO THE CITY
IT BLOWS A SNOWING GALE
NE SIT ANCILLAE TIBI AMOR PUDOR
TO ALL THAT LOVE THE FAR AND BLUE
THOU STRAINEST THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN FERN
TO ROSABELLE
NOW BARE TO THE BEHOLDER'S EYE
THE BOUR-TREE DEN
SONNETS
FRAGMENTS
AIR OF DIABELLI'S
EPITAPHIUM EROTII
DE M. ANTONIO
AD MAGISTRUM LUDI
AD NEPOTEM
IN CHARIDEMUM
DE LIGURRA
IN LUPUM
AD QUINTILIANUM
DE HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS
AD MARTIALEM
IN MAXIMUM
AD OLUM
DE COENATIONE MICAE
DE EROTIO PUELLA
AD PISCATOREM
New Poems
PRAYER
I ASK good things that I detest,
With speeches fair;
Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast,
But hear my prayer.
I say ill things I would not say -
Things unaware:
Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day,
And not my prayer.
My heart is evil in Thy sight:
My good thoughts flee:
O Lord, I cannot wish aright -
Wish Thou for me.
O bend my words and acts to Thee,
However ill,
That I, whate'er I say or be,
May serve Thee still.
O let my thoughts abide in Thee
Lest I should fall:
Show me Thyself in all I see,
Thou Lord of all.
LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ
LO! in thine honest eyes I read
The auspicious beacon that shall lead,
After long sailing in deep seas,
To quiet havens in June ease.
Thy voice sings like an inland bird
First by the seaworn sailor heard;
And like road sheltered from life's sea
Thine honest heart is unto me.
THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE
THOUGH deep indifference should drowse
The sluggish life beneath my brows,
And all the external things I see
Grow snow-showers in the street to me,
Yet inmost in my stormy sense
Thy looks shall be an influence.
Though other loves may come and go
And long years sever us below,
Shall the thin ice that grows above
Freeze the deep centre-well of love?
No, still below light amours, thou
Shalt rule me as thou rul'st me now.
Year following year shall only set
Fresh gems upon thy coronet;
And Time, grown lover, shall delight
To beautify thee in my sight;
And thou shalt ever rule in me
Crowned with the light of memory.
MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACK-BIRD SINGS
MY heart, when first the blackbird sings,
My heart drinks in the song:
Cool pleasure fills my bosom through
And spreads each nerve along.
My bosom eddies quietly,
My heart is stirred and cool
As when a wind-moved briar sweeps
A stone into a pool
But unto thee, when thee I meet,
My pulses thicken fast,
As when the maddened lake grows black
And ruffles in the blast.
I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR
I.
I DREAMED of forest alleys fair
And fields of gray-flowered grass,
Where by the yellow summer moon
My Jenny seemed to pass.
I dreamed the yellow summer moon,
Behind a cedar wood,
Lay white on fields of rippling grass
Where I and Jenny stood.
I dreamed - but fallen through my dream,
In a rainy land I lie
Where wan wet morning crowns the hills
Of grim reality.
II.
I am as one that keeps awake
All night in the month of June,
That lies awake in bed to watch
The trees and great white moon.
For memories of love are more
Than the white moon there above,
And dearer than quiet moonshine
Are the thoughts of her I love.
III.
Last night I lingered long without
My last of loves to see.
Alas! the moon-white window-panes
Stared blindly back on me.
To-day I hold her very hand,
Her very waist embrace -
Like clouds across a pool, I read
Her thoughts upon her face.
And yet, as now, through her clear eyes
I seek the inner shrine -
I stoop to read her virgin heart
In doubt if it be mine -
O looking long and fondly thus,
What vision should I see?
No vision, but my own white face
That grins and mimics me.
IV.
Once more upon the same old seat
In the same sunshiny weather,
The elm-trees' shadows at their feet
And foliage move together.
The shadows shift upon the grass,
The dial point creeps on;
The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass,
As then they passed and shone.
But now deep sleep is on my heart,
Deep sleep and perfect rest.
Hope's flutterings now disturb no more
The quiet of my breast.
ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER
AS swallows turning backward
When half-way o'er the sea,
At one word's trumpet summons
They came again to me -
The hopes I had forgotten
Came back again to me.
I know not which to credit,
O lady of my heart!
Your eyes that bade me linger,
Your words that bade us part -
I know not which to credit,
My reason or my heart.
But be my hopes rewarded,
Or be they but in vain,
I have dreamed a golden vision,
I have gathered in the grain -
I have dreamed a golden vision,
I have not lived in vain.
DEDICATION
MY first gift and my last, to you
I dedicate this fascicle of songs -
The only wealth I have:
Just as they are, to you.
I speak the truth in soberness, and say
I had rather bring a light to your clear eyes,
Had rather hear you praise
This bosomful of songs
Than that the whole, hard world with one consent,
In one continuous chorus of applause
Poured forth for me and mine
The homage of ripe praise.
I write the finis here against my love,
This is my love's last epitaph and tomb.
Here the road forks, and I
Go my way, far from yours.
THE OLD CHIMAERAS, OLD RECEIPTS
THE old Chimaeras, old receipts
For making "happy land,"
The old political beliefs
Swam close before my hand.
The grand old communistic myths
In a middle state of grace,
Quite dead, but not yet gone to Hell,
And walking for a space,
Quite dead, and looking it, and yet
All eagerness to show
The Social-Contract forgeries
By Chatterton - Rousseau -
A hundred such as these I tried,
And hundreds after that,
I fitted Social Theories
As one would fit a hat!
Full many a marsh-fire lured me on,
I reached at many a star,
I reached and grasped them and behold -
The stump of a cigar!
All through the sultry sweltering day
The sweat ran down my brow,
The still plains heard my distant strokes
That have been silenced now.
This way and that, now up, now down,
I hailed full many a blow.
Alas! beneath my weary arm
The thicket seemed to grow.
I take the lesson, wipe my brow
And throw my axe aside,
And, sorely wearied, I go home
In the tranquil eventide.
And soon the rising moon, that lights
The eve of my defeat,
Shall see me sitting as of yore
By my old master's feet.
PRELUDE
BY sunny market-place and street
Wherever I go my drum I beat,
And wherever I go in my coat of red
The ribbons flutter about my head.
I seek recruits for wars to come -
For slaughterless wars I beat the drum,
And the shilling I give to each new ally
Is hope to live and courage to die.
I know that new recruits shall come
Wherever I beat the sounding drum,
Till the roar of the march by country and town
Shall shake the tottering Dagons down.
For I was objectless as they
And loitering idly day by day;
But whenever I heard the recruiters come,
I left my all to follow the drum.
THE VANQUISHED KNIGHT
I HAVE left all upon the shameful field,
Honour and Hope, my God, and all but life;
Spurless, with sword reversed and dinted shield,
Degraded and disgraced, I leave the strife.
From him that hath not, shall there not be taken
E'en that he hath, when he deserts the strife?
Life left by all life's benefits forsaken,
O keep the promise, Lord, and take the life.
TO THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS
I SEND to you, commissioners,
A paper that may please ye, sirs
(For troth they say it might be worse
An' I believe't)
And on your business lay my curse
Before I leav't.
I thocht I'd serve wi' you, sirs, yince,
But I've thocht better of it since;
The maitter I will nowise mince,
But tell ye true:
I'll service wi' some ither prince,
An' no wi' you.
I've no been very deep, ye'll think,
Cam' delicately to the brink
An' when the water gart me shrink
Straucht took the rue,
An' didna stoop my fill to drink -
I own it true.
I kent on cape and isle, a light
Burnt fair an' clearly ilka night;
But at the service I took fright,
As sune's I saw,
An' being still a neophite
Gaed straucht awa'.
Anither course I now begin,
The weeg I'll cairry for my sin,
The court my voice shall echo in,
An' - wha can tell? -
Some ither day I may be yin
O' you mysel'.
THE RELIC TAKEN, WHAT AVAILS THE SHRINE?
THE relic taken, what avails the shrine?
The locket, pictureless? O heart of mine,
Art thou not worse than that,
Still warm, a vacant nest where love once sat?
Her image nestled closer at my heart
Than cherished memories, healed every smart
And warmed it more than wine
Or the full summer sun in noon-day shine.
This was the little weather gleam that lit
The cloudy promontories - the real charm was
That gilded hills and woods
And walked beside me thro' the solitudes.
The sun is set. My heart is widowed now
Of that companion-thought. Alone I plough
The seas of life, and trace
A separate furrow far from her and grace.
ABOUT THE SHELTERED GARDEN GROUND
ABOUT the sheltered garden ground
The trees stand strangely still.
The vale ne'er seemed so deep before,
Nor yet so high the hill.
An awful sense of quietness,
A fulness of repose,
Breathes from the dewy garden-lawns,
The silent garden rows.
As the hoof-beats of a troop of horse
Heard far across a plain,
A nearer knowledge of great thoughts
Thrills vaguely through my brain.
I lean my head upon my arm,
My heart's too full to think;
Like the roar of seas, upon my heart
Doth the morning stillness sink.
AFTER READING "ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA"
AS when the hunt by holt and field
Drives on with horn and strife,
Hunger of hopeless things pursues
Our spirits throughout life.
The sea's roar fills us aching full
Of objectless desire -
The sea's roar, and the white moon-shine,
And the reddening of the fire.
Who talks to me of reason now?
It would be more delight
To have died in Cleopatra's arms
Than be alive to-night.
I KNOW NOT HOW, BUT AS I COUNT
I KNOW not how, but as I count
The beads of former years,
Old laughter catches in my throat
With the very feel of tears.
SPRING SONG
THE air was full of sun and birds,
The fresh air sparkled clearly.
Remembrance wakened in my heart
And I knew I loved her dearly.
The fallows and the leafless trees
And all my spirit tingled.
My earliest thought of love, and Spring's
First puff of perfume mingled.
In my still heart the thoughts awoke,
Came lone by lone together -
Say, birds and Sun and Spring, is Love
A mere affair of weather?
THE SUMMER SUN SHONE ROUND ME
THE summer sun shone round me,
The folded valley lay
In a stream of sun and odour,
That sultry summer day.
The tall trees stood in the sunlight
As still as still could be,
But the deep grass sighed and rustled
And bowed and beckoned me.
The deep grass moved and whispered
And bowed and brushed my face.
It whispered in the sunshine:
"The winter comes apace."
YOU LOOKED SO TEMPTING IN THE PEW
YOU looked so tempting in the pew,
You looked so sly and calm -
My trembling fingers played with yours
As both looked out the Psalm.
Your heart beat hard against my arm,
My foot to yours was set,
Your loosened ringlet burned my cheek
Whenever they two met.
O little, little we hearkened, dear,
And little, little cared,
Although the parson sermonised,
The congregation stared.
LOVE'S VICISSITUDES
AS Love and Hope together
Walk by me for a while,
Link-armed the ways they travel
For many a pleasant mile -
Link-armed and dumb they travel,
They sing not, but they smile.
Hope leaving, Love commences
To practise on the lute;
And as he sings and travels
With lingering, laggard foot,
Despair plays obligato
The sentimental flute.
Until in singing garments
Comes royally, at call -
Comes limber-hipped Indiff'rence
Free stepping, straight and tall -
Comes singing and lamenting,
The sweetest pipe of all.
DUDDINGSTONE
WITH caws and chirrupings, the woods
In this thin sun rejoice.
The Psalm seems but the little kirk
That sings with its own voice.
The cloud-rifts share their amber light
With the surface of the mere -
I think the very stones are glad
To feel each other near.
Once more my whole heart leaps and swells
And gushes o'er with glee;
The fingers of the sun and shade
Touch music stops in me.
Now fancy paints that bygone day
When you were here, my fair -
The whole lake rang with rapid skates
In the windless winter air.
You leaned to me, I leaned to you,
Our course was smooth as flight -
We steered - a heel-touch to the left,
A heel-touch to the right.
We swung our way through flying men,
Your hand lay fast in mine:
We saw the shifting crowd dispart,
The level ice-reach shine.
I swear by yon swan-travelled lake,
By yon calm hill above,
I swear had we been drowned that day
We had been drowned in love.
STOUT MARCHES LEAD TO CERTAIN ENDS
STOUT marches lead to certain ends,
We seek no Holy Grail, my friends -
That dawn should find us every day
Some fraction farther on our way.
The dumb lands sleep from east to west,
They stretch and turn and take their rest.
The cock has crown in the steading-yard,
But priest and people slumber hard.
We two are early forth, and hear
The nations snoring far and near.
So peacefully their rest they take,
It seems we are the first awake!
- Strong heart! this is no royal way,
A thousand cross-roads seek the day;
And, hid from us, to left and right,
A thousand seekers seek the light.
AWAY WITH FUNERAL MUSIC
AWAY with funeral music - set
The pipe to powerful lips -
The cup of life's for him that drinks
And not for him that sips.
TO SYDNEY
NOT thine where marble-still and white
Old statues share the tempered light
And mock the uneven modern flight,
But in the stream
Of daily sorrow and delight
To seek a theme.
I too, O friend, have steeled my heart
Boldly to choose the better part,
To leave the beaten ways of art,
And wholly free
To dare, beyond the scanty chart,
The deeper sea.
All vain restrictions left behind,
Frail bark! I loose my anchored mind
And large, before the prosperous wind
Desert the strand -
A new Columbus sworn to find
The morning land.
Nor too ambitious, friend. To thee
I own my weakness. Not for me
To sing the enfranchised nations' glee,
Or count the cost
Of warships foundered far at sea
And battles lost.
High on the far-seen, sunny hills,
Morning-content my bosom fills;
Well-pleased, I trace the wandering rills
And learn their birth.
Far off, the clash of sovereign wills
May shake the earth.
The nimble circuit of the wheel,
The uncertain poise of merchant weal,
Heaven of famine, fire and steel
When nations fall;
These, heedful, from afar I feel -
I mark them all.
But not, my friend, not these I sing,
My voice shall fill a narrower ring.
Tired souls, that flag upon the wing,
I seek to cheer:
Brave wines to strengthen hope I bring,
Life's cantineer!
Some song that shall be suppling oil
To weary muscles strained with toil,
Shall hearten for the daily moil,
Or widely read
Make sweet for him that tills the soil
His daily bread.
Such songs in my flushed hours I dream
(High thought) instead of armour gleam
Or warrior cantos ream by ream
To load the shelves -
Songs with a lilt of words, that seem
To sing themselves.
HAD I THE POWER THAT HAVE THE WILL
HAD I the power that have the will,
The enfeebled will - a modern curse -
This book of mine should blossom still
A perfect garden-ground of verse.
White placid marble gods should keep
Good watch in every shadowy lawn;
And from clean, easy-breathing sleep
The birds should waken me at dawn.
- A fairy garden; - none the less
Throughout these gracious paths of mine
All day there should be free access
For stricken hearts and lives that pine;
And by the folded lawns all day -
No idle gods for such a land -
All active Love should take its way
With active Labour hand in hand.
O DULL COLD NORTHERN SKY
O DULL cold northern sky,
O brawling sabbath bells,
O feebly twittering Autumn bird that tells
The year is like to die!
O still, spoiled trees, O city ways,
O sun desired in vain,
O dread presentiment of coming rain
That cloys the sullen days!
Thee, heart of mine, I greet.
In what hard mountain pass
Striv'st thou? In what importunate morass
Sink now thy weary feet?
Thou run'st a hopeless race
To win despair. No crown
Awaits success, but leaden gods look down
On thee, with evil face.
And those that would befriend
And cherish thy defeat,
With angry welcome shall turn sour the sweet
Home-coming of the end.
Yea, those that offer praise
To idleness, shall yet
Insult thee, coming glorious in the sweat
Of honourable ways.
APOLOGETIC POSTSCRIPT OF A YEAR LATER
IF you see this song, my dear,
And last year's toast,
I'm confoundedly in fear
You'll be serious and severe
About the boast.
Blame not that I sought such aid
To cure regret.
I was then so lowly laid
I used all the Gasconnade
That I could get.
Being snubbed is somewhat smart,
Believe, my sweet;
And I needed all my art
To restore my broken heart
To its conceit.
Come and smile, dear, and forget
I boasted so,
I apologise - regret -
It was all a jest; - and - yet -
I do not know.
TO MARCUS
YOU have been far, and I
Been farther yet,
Since last, in foul or fair
An impecunious pair,
Below this northern sky
Of ours, we met.
Now winter night shall see
Again us two,
While howls the tempest higher,
Sit warmly by the fire
And dream and plan, as we
Were wont to do.
And, hand in hand, at large
Our thoughts shall walk
While storm and gusty rain,
Again and yet again,
Shall drive their noisy charge
Across the talk.
The pleasant future still
Shall smile to me,
And hope with wooing hands
Wave on to fairy lands
All over dale and hill
And earth and sea.
And you who doubt the sky
And fear the sun -
You - Christian with the pack -
You shall not wander back
For I am Hopeful - I
Will cheer you on.
Come - where the great have trod,
The great shall lead -
Come, elbow through the press,
Pluck Fortune by the dress -
By God, we must - by God,
We shall succeed.
TO OTTILIE
YOU remember, I suppose,
How the August sun arose,
And how his face
Woke to trill and carolette
All the cages that were set
About the place.
In the tender morning light
All around lay strange and bright
And still and sweet,
And the gray doves unafraid
Went their morning promenade
Along the street.
THIS GLOOMY NORTHERN DAY
THIS gloomy northern day,
Or this yet gloomier night,
Has moved a something high
In my cold heart; and I,
That do not often pray,
Would pray to-night.
And first on Thee I call
For bread, O God of might!
Enough of bread for all, -
That through the famished town
Cold hunger may lie down
With none to-night.
I pray for hope no less,
Strong-sinewed hope, O Lord,
That to the struggling young
May preach with brazen tongue
Stout Labour, high success,
And bright reward.
And last, O Lord, I pray
For hearts resigned and bold
To trudge the dusty way -
Hearts stored with song and joke
And warmer than a cloak
Against the cold.
If nothing else he had,
He who has this, has all.
This comforts under pain;
This, through the stinging rain,
Keeps ragamuffin glad
Behind the wall.
This makes the sanded inn
A palace for a Prince,
And this, when griefs begin
And cruel fate annoys,
Can bring to mind the joys
Of ages since.
THE WIND IS WITHOUT THERE AND HOWLS IN THE TREES
THE wind is without there and howls in the trees,
And the rain-flurries drum on the glass:
Alone by the fireside with elbows on knees
I can number the hours as they pass.
Yet now, when to cheer me the crickets begin,
And my pipe is just happily lit,
Believe me, my friend, tho' the evening draws in,
That not all uncontested I sit.
Alone, did I say? O no, nowise alone
With the Past sitting warm on my knee,
To gossip of days that are over and gone,
But still charming to her and to me.
With much to be glad of and much to deplore,
Yet, as these days with those we compare,
Believe me, my friend, tho' the sorrows seem more
They are somehow more easy to bear.
And thou, faded Future, uncertain and frail,
As I cherish thy light in each draught,
His lamp is not more to the miner - their sail
Is not more to the crew on the raft.
For Hope can make feeble ones earnest and brave,
And, as forth thro' the years I look on,
Believe me, my friend, between this and the grave,
I see wonderful things to be done.
To do or to try; and, believe me, my friend,
If the call should come early for me,
I can leave these foundations uprooted, and tend
For some new city over the sea.
To do or to try; and if failure be mine,
And if Fortune go cross to my plan,
Believe me, my friend, tho' I mourn the design
I shall never lament for the man.
A VALENTINE'S SONG
MOTLEY I count the only wear
That suits, in this mixed world, the truly wise,
Who boldly smile upon despair
And shake their bells in Grandam Grundy's eyes.
Singers should sing with such a goodly cheer
That the bare listening should make strong like wine,
At this unruly time of year,
The Feast of Valentine.
We do not now parade our "oughts"
And "shoulds" and motives and beliefs in God.
Their life lies all indoors; sad thoughts
Must keep the house, while gay thoughts go abroad,
Within we hold the wake for hopes deceased;
But in the public streets, in wind or sun,
Keep open, at the annual feast,
The puppet-booth of fun.
Our powers, perhaps, are small to please,
But even negro-songs and castanettes,
Old jokes and hackneyed repartees
Are more than the parade of vain regrets.
Let Jacques stand Wert(h)ering by the wounded deer -
We shall make merry, honest friends of mine,
At this unruly time of year,
The Feast of Valentine.
I know how, day by weary day,
Hope fades, love fades, a thousand pleasures fade.
I have not trudged in vain that way
On which life's daylight darkens, shade by shade.
And still, with hopes decreasing, griefs increased,
Still, with what wit I have shall I, for one,
Keep open, at the annual feast,
The puppet-booth of fun.
I care not if the wit be poor,
The old worn motley stained with rain and tears,
If but the courage still endure
That filled and strengthened hope in earlier years;
If still, with friends averted, fate severe,
A glad, untainted cheerfulness be mine
To greet the unruly time of year,
The Feast of Valentine.