Helen Hay Whitney

“ A little green snake curls thro' her hair—
The scent of the yew is strong and sweet—
Her eyes have drawn me to her feet,
And I lie along on the drenching ground
And worship—and watch the snake curl round,
His tongue shoots thro' the air.
Now—slowly she takes her eyes from me,
And I dream and wait,
Till in shades of hate
My love of her smile has faded quite
And I spring to kill her, there in the night—
But only the yew I see. THE DEAD NIGHT
The strong brave Night is dead. ”

“ It might look in thine eyes and understand
The song they sing unto a weary land,
Making it radiant, yet because I dare,
To love thee, being weak, lose not thine air
Of passive distance, fateful and most grand.
Pity me not, nor turn away awhile
Till absence's cloud has caught my passion up.
Ah, be not kind! for love's sake, be not kind!
Grant me the tragic deepness of the cup,
And when thine eyes have flashed and made me blind,
Kill me beneath the shadow of thy smile. ”

“ If you were but a rose—dear love.
Bird-love, rose-love, to last the day
Why shall not we whose hearts are light
Put by the coming of the night,
Catch glints of rapture from the sky,
The scents that swing where lilies lie,
And ring them to a garland white
To ease the pain of life away?
Bird-love, rose-love, to last the day! THE JOY OF LIFE
Her hair was twined with vine leaves thro' the gold,
The leopard skin about her shoulders flung
Showed gleams of her as marble—fair and cold ”

“ When faint love lingers in the darkness drear.
I will not—Ah, but should he come to-night
I think my life might break thro' very bliss,
This little will should so be torn apart
That all my soul might fail in golden light
And let me die—So do I long for this.
Ah, love, thine eyes!—Nay, love—Thy heart, thy heart! AGE
I have a dream, that somewhere in the days,
Since when a myriad suns have burned and died,
There was a time my soul was not for pride
Of spendthrift youth, the pensioner who pays
Dole for the pain of searching thro' the haze
Where joy lies hidden. ”

“ Down comes the sun, a red shot from a merciful sling
Burning its heart with swift death as an end to the pain. THE LAST CLOUD
A red rose cloud upon the evening sky,
A gallant cloud which dies in foremost fight,
Too proud for prisons of triumphant night.
Knowing no pause, no strain of changing years,
Its little hour too short for dreams or tears,
The faithful sun its first and latest light—
Who would not so be glad to fight and die!
A red rose cloud upon the evening sky. SONG
Love is a broken lily,
A pale and crownless rose
With golden heart made chilly
By traitor touch of snows. ”

“ Nor open weary eyes,
For waking is but weeping
And Sleep is Paradise.
Love is a cadence trailing
Where broken music falls,
A hapless shadow sailing
Across deserted walls.
So still my heart lie sleeping
Till love's hot sun be set,
For waking is but weeping.
Asleep—sad eyes forget. IN THE GRAVE
Dear Love—do you wake in that land where my waking is done? ”

“ The very flowers which smile on my sad face
I am afraid of. See! they are the worst
Of all my fears; so fair—yet black accurst.
The languid passion-poppy sways and dips
To show the black heart bursting into flame.
The crimson evil of a satyr's lips
A sneering nodding finger-post of shame;
A thousand other flowers without a name
Huddle all trembling in the dusk behind
Like hunted ghosts, whose eyes are white and blind.
The grass is not the grass that overhead
Cooled my bare feet with daisies' purest snows ”

“ The face of earth is old with pain
As mine—with dull despair.
And yet, one sun will gild the air,
Earth's tears were not in vain:
No smile can ease mine eyes of care
Or make me young again! I HAVE SEEN WHAT THE SERAPHS HAVE SEEN
I have seen what the seraphs have seen
As they gaze thro' the limitless air—
Thro' the wind and the clouds to the lean
Pale face of the moon, and the bare
Bright flame of the sun, unaware,
I have seen what the seraphs have seen!
Thro' the limitless spaces of air
The brave mists that waver and wane
Are patient and pallid and fair. ”

“ No smile which other smile has softly kissed
Or doting gaze which Time must draw apart,
But spirit's spirit in the trailing mist. ON THE MOUNTAIN'S SLOPE
High on the mountain's slope I pause and turn—
Over my head, by the rough crag-points high,
Seems rent and torn the tender hovering sky,
Till almost—thro'—I see a Heaven-spark burn;
Then downward to the sleeping world I yearn
Whose eyes so heavy droop they may not try
To catch the higher gleam—and live thereby—
Youth passes graveward—and they never learn. ”

“ Down the blue marsh where crows to Southward fly.
Flanked by dim ramparts, where the tide dreams by,
High from the city's heart, a lifted spear,
In its straight splendour makes the heavens seem near,
Symbol of man-made force that shall not die.
To the tall crest we gaze in self-command,
Assured the world's our own and we may dare
To raise our Babel thro' forbidden aisles
And hold the skirt of knowledge in our hand,
Great in our moment, spurn the world's despair ”

“ Glows lurid thro' the gloom—while from afar,
Beats marching of innumerable feet.
Is this the place where tragic armies meet?
The throb of terror that presages war?—
I strain to see, then softly on my sight
There falls the vision, manifold they come—
White listless Day chained to her brother Night—
Their hands are shackled and their lips are dumb,
And as they meet the air where each one dies,
They turn and smile at me—with weary eyes. ”

“ Hither and thither thro' the solemn world,
Glory of purple, passionate blazing red
Glints thro' the gloom, and thro' the grey is swirled—
Ah! but the leaves twined sweet about her head.
"Heedless—men pass me in their search for life,
Hunting for altars to their souls' fine fires,
Crying the sun or joy of toil and strife
And know not that 'tis I—their heart desires.
They dream not that the sheen on peacock's breast,
The haze and perfume of a Summer's day,
The silver stealing o'er the twilight West
Are joys more rich than all the world's display." MIST
Mist on the sea ”

“ Who with the world has held his soul his own."
He sadly turned, this height he could not dare.
But—Stay—the text upon the altar there—
"I wait for him who has not made a moan
Howe'er his kind have used his heaven-sent dower.
Fear not, and burn thine incense, lowly heart."
And sudden brightness turns the averted face,
To holy sense of majesty and power—
And a voice:—"Master—this indeed thou art."
Wondrous music trembles thro' the space. EAST AND WEST
You have not ceased for me. ”

“ Does the pearl know?
Does the bird know, when thro' the waking dawn
He soaring sees below the silvered lawn,
And weary men who wait to watch the day
Steal o'er the heights where he may wheel and stray? ”

“ Where all men may drift and himself alone stands fast,
And gave them for their token
The peace of dreams unbroken
Where their souls, his faithful vassals, rest at last, from the past. DEAR DEAD WOMEN
The winds have chilled the loving odorous South,
All wan and grey she seeks a place to die,
Her tossing hair, her pleading passionate mouth,
Pity that things so fair in death must lie;
But Winter holds and kills her with a sigh.
One kiss he lays upon her lips so proud,
Shuts the blue eyes and winds her sombre shroud. ”

“ So fretful Life sees Death's cold sands and faints
To fling thereon the wearing of her wave,
Yet, turning ere she finds the gloomy shore,
Seeing ahead the idle senseless grave,
Behind—the Kings, the Patriots and the Saints,
She sighing turns to face the fight once more. WATER AND WINE
I asked for water and they brought me wine ”