Mariposa Lily, The
Insect or blossom? Fragile, fairy thing,
Poised upon slender tip, and quivering
To flight! a flower of the fields of air;
A jewelled moth; a butterfly, with rare
And tender tints upon his downy wing,
A moment resting in our happy sight;
A flower held captive by a thread so slight
Its petal-wings of broidered gossamer
Are, light as the wind, with every wind astir, —
Wafting sweet odor, faint and exquisite.
O dainty nursling of the field and sky,
What fairer thing looks up to heaven’s blue
And drinks the noontide sun, the dawning’s dew?
Thou wingëd bloom! thou blossom-butterfly!
Two Pictures
Morning
As in a quiet dream
The mighty waters seem;
Scarcely a ripple shows
Upon their blue repose.
The sea-gulls smoothly ride
Upon the drowsy tide,
And a while sail doth sleep
Far out upon the deep.
A dreamy purple fills
The hollows of the hills;
A single cloud floats through
The sky’s serenest blue;
And far beyond the Gate
The massed vapors wait-
White as the walls that ring
The City of the King.
There is no sound, no word:
Only a happy bird
Trills to her nestling young
A little, sleepy song.
This is the holy calm;
The heavens dropping balm;
The Love made manifest,
And near; the perfect rest.
Evening
The day grows wan and cold.
In through the Gate of Gold
The restless vapors glide,
Like ghosts upon the tide.
The brown bird folds her wing,
Sad, with no song to sing.
Along the streets the dust
Blows sharp, with sudden gust.
The night comes, chill and gray.
Over the the sullen bay,
What mournful echoes pass
From lonely Alcatraz!
O bell, with solemn toll,
As for a passing soul-
As for a soul that waits,
In vain, at heaven’s gates!
This is the utter blight;
The sorrow infinite
Of earth; the closing wave;
The parting, and the grave.
Just For A Day
Just for a day to put my sorrow by!
Forget that summer dies, that roses die;
And the swift swallow, circling round the eaves,
Leaves us with falling leaves.
Forget the sky shall lose its gold; the sea
Grow white in tempest, and the long nights be
Forlorn of stars, and dreary with the rains
Beating against the panes.
Forget that change is, and the sorrow is;
That souls grow tired, and sweetest memories
In time turn bitter, and the one sure friend
Is death, that makes an end.
Just a day to put aside the years,
Washed clean of wrongs, of sins, of heavy tears;
And dream that life is fair, and love a truth,
And youth is always youth.
That if the swallow goes, ‘tis for a day,
To come again at dawn, with merrier lay,
Learned in the old fair lands, and the rose brings
New splendors with new springs.
That God is near, and Heaven near, and Death
So far the young heart scarcely reckoneth
The time by years and years; as now by days-
And the whole earth is praise.
And faith is as a spotless dove, with wings
Unclogged with doubt, with many questionings
Unansweared; and the heart not yet doth tire
Of its own vain desire.
Just for a day to pull all sad things by,
Forget that dreams are dead, that dreams must die-
Joy is a breath, and hope a star that sets;
Forget, as love forgets!
Regret
Mine, to loose or to hold,
I held it, thus, in my hand.
Mine, to fetter or free-
Which should it be?
Dear little wings of gold,
Dear little voice that trilled
All the gay summer long,
Making each day a song!
Well, but one tires, at times,
Of even one’s favorite rhymes;
Of roses, oversweet;
Of joys that are too complete;
Of all things in one’s reach:
And just to be alone
With silence sweeter than speech,
Seems best of all things known.
Mine to command,
Hold captive, as I willed:
Little light wings, away!
Into the golden day-
Away, away,
Into the golden sky-
Good-by! Good-by!
That was a year ago.
Was it well-was it wiser so?
Shall I ever know?
A whole long weary year,
And summer is here.
But the rose a redness lacks,
And the sun is chill,
And the world, somehow, too still,
And time a dreary tax
On body and heart and brain.
Would it be less, I wonder,
If I could only hear
A piping, soft and clear,
A little mellow strain
Come back again?
Or see the flutterings
Of dainty golden wings,
That clove heaven’s blue asunder,
Away and away from me
Away and away,
On one poor foolish day?
Ah, well! Was it so to be,
And better so?
I shall never, never know.
It is gone-let it go.
But O! for the dear love-strain
Mine once, mine never again!
For the fluttering wings of gold,
Mine to loose or to hold-
Held lightly, loosened-so,
A year ago!
Freedom
Mine, to loose or to hold,
I held it, thus, in my hand.
Mine, to fetter or free-
Which should it be?
Dear little wings of gold,
Dear little voice that trilled
All the gay summer long,
Making each day a song!
Well, but one tires at times
Of even one’s favorite rhymes;
Of roses, oversweet,
Of joys that are too complete,
Of all things in one’s reach;
And just to be alone
With silence sweeter than speech,
Seems best of all things known.
Mine to command,
Hold captive, as I willed:
Little light wings, away!
Into the golden day,
Away, away, -
Into the golden sky-
Good-by! Good-by!
That was a year ago:
Was it well, was it wiser so?
Shall I ever, ever know?
A whole long weary year,
And summer is here:
But the rose a redness lacks,
And the sun is chill,
And the world, somehow, too still,
And time a dreary tax
On body and heart and brain.
Would it be less, I wonder,
If I could only hear
A piping, soft and clear,
A little mellow strain
Come back again?
Or see the flutterings
Of dainty golden wings,
That clove heaven’s blue asunder,
Away and away from me
Away and away,
On one poor foolish day?
Ah, well! Was it so to be,
And better so?
I shall never, never know.
It is gone-let it go.
But O, for the dear love-strain
Mine once, mine never again!
For the fluttering wings of gold,
Mine to loose or to hold-
Held lightly, loosened-so-
A year ago!
