Susan Coolidge

“ While round her feet, like doves, the billows crowd and urge.
Her glad lips quaff the salt, familiar wine;
Her spent urns fill;
All hungering creatures know the sound, the sign,—
Quiver and thrill,
With glad expectance crowd and banquet at their will.
I, too, the rapt contentment join and share;
My tide is full;
There is new happiness in earth, in air:
All beautiful
And fresh the world but now so bare and dull.
But while we raise the cup of bliss so high,
Thus satisfied,
Another shore beneath a sad, far sky
Waiteth her tide,
And thirsts with sad complainings still denied. ”

“ Its pale-green spheres were rounded to soft runes
Of summer's whispering.
Through balmy morns of May;
Through fragrances of June and bright July,
And August, hot and still, it hung on high
And purpled day by day.
Of fair and mantling shapes,
No braver, fairer cluster on the tree;
And what then is this thing has come to thee
Among the other grapes,
Thou lonely tenant of the leafless vine,
Granted the right to grow thy mates beside,
To ripen thy sweet juices, but denied
Thy place among the wine?
Ah! we are dull and blind. ”

“ And myriad grasses, wild and free,
Drink of the dew which faileth none.
A myriad worlds encompass ours;
A myriad souls our souls enclose;
And each, its sins and woes and powers,
The Lord He sees, the Lord He knows,
And from the Infinite Knowledge flowers
The Infinite Pity's fadeless rose.
Lighten our darkness, Lord, most wise;
All-seeing One, give us to see;
Our judgments are profanities,
Our ignorance is cruelty,
While Thou, knowing all, dost not despise
To pardon even such things as we.
MORNING. O word and thing most beautiful! ”

“ Prove me no torpid and inanimate thing,
Prove me of Him who is of life the Spring.
I am alive!—and that is beautiful.
Thank God for Love: though Love may hurt and wound
Though set with sharpest thorns its rose may be,
Roses are not of winter, all attuned
Must be the earth, full of soft stir, and free
And warm ere dawns the rose upon its tree. ”

“ To all my questioning thought, the time to tell,
And it is well.
Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing
Thy will always,
Through a long century's ripening fruition,
Or a short day's.
Thou canst not come too soon; and I can wait
If thou come late.
ON THE SHORE. The punctual tide draws up the bay,
With ripple of wave and hiss of spray,
And the great red flower of the light-house tower
Blooms on the headland far away.
Petal by petal its fiery rose
Out of the darkness buds and grows ”

“ And the hiss and click of the snow, whirling to and fro.
There seems no living thing
Left in the world but I;
My thoughts fly forth on restless wing,
And drift back wearily,
Storm-beaten, buffeted, hopeless, and almost dead.
No one there is to care;
Not one to even know
Of the lonely day and the dull despair
As the hours ebb and flow,
Slow lingering, as fain to lengthen out my pain.
And I think of the monks of old,
Each in his separate cell,
Hearing no sound, except when tolled
The stated convent bell.
How could they live and bear that silence everywhere? ”

“ Set in the morning fair,—
That vanished morn which had such swift escape.
I turn and see her there,—
The arch, sweet smile, the bending, graceful head;
And, seeing thus, why do I call her dead?
WHEN LOVE WENT. What whispered Love the day he fled?
Ah! this was what Love whispered;
"You sought to hold me with a chain;
I fly to prove such holding vain.
"You bound me burdens, and I bore
The burdens hard, the burdens sore;
I bore them all unmurmuring,
For Love can bear a harder thing. ”

“ THE MORNING COMES BEFORE THE SUN. Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose
From out night's gray and cloudy sheath;
Softly and still it grows and grows,
Petal by petal, leaf by leaf;
Each sleep-imprisoned creature breaks
Its dreamy fetters, one by one,
And love awakes, and labor wakes,—
The morning comes before the sun.
What is this message from the light
So fairer far than light can be?
Youth stands a-tiptoe, eager, bright,
In haste the risen sun to see ”

“ And never did a living thing,
Or bird in air or fish in lake,
Endure a pang for Kintu's sake.
Then rose his sons, of differing mind,
Who gorged on cruel feasts each day,
And bathed in blood, and joyed to slay,
And laughed at pain and suffering.
Then Kintu sadly went his way.
The gods long-suffering are and kind,
Often they pardon, long they wait;
But men are evil, men are blind. ”

“ A soft, still air,
Which makes each closely folded thing
Look always fair.
My darlings, do you feel me near,
As every day
Into this hidden place and dear
I take my way?
Always you stand in radiant guise,
Always I see
A noiseless welcome in the eyes
You turn on me.
And, whether I come soon or late,
Whate'er befall,
Always within the guarded gate
I find you all.
MENACE. All green and fair the Summer lies,
Just budded from the bud of Spring,
With tender blue of wistful skies,
And winds which softly sing.
Her clock has struck its morning hours ”

“ Night is not terrible that we should sigh.
A little darkness we can surely bear;
Will there not be more sunshine—by and by?
Go, rose, since go you must,
Flowerless and chill the winter draweth nigh;
Closed are the blithe and fragrant lips which made
All summer long perpetual melody.
Cheerless we take our way, but not afraid:
Will there not be more roses—by and by? ”

“ Lest the sweet, sad thing get free,
Lest it flit beside on the floor,
And sadden the day for me,
Lest between me and the sun,
And between me and the heavens,
And the laugh in the children's eyes,
The shadowy feet should run,
The faint gold curls arise
Like a gleam of moonlight pale,
And all the warmth and the light
Should die from the summer day,
And the laughter turn to wail,
And I should forget to pray. ”

“ In the place of rustling wings, cold winds rustling be,
And thickly lie the icicles where once the warm brood lay.
Shall we tease the birdies, when they come back in spring,—
Tease and tell them we have fathomed all their secrets small,
Every secret hiding-place and dear and precious, thing,
Which they left behind the leaves, the red leaves, in the fall?
They would only laugh at us and wink their saucy eyes,
And answer, "Last year's secrets are all past and told.
New years bring new happenings and fresh mysteries,
You are very welcome to the stale ones of the old!" ”

“ Stood munching the grasses, dry and sweet.
Then a single cloud rose up in the west,
With a base of gray and a white, white crest;
It rose and it spread a mighty wing.
And swooped at the sun, though he did his best
And struggled and fought like a wounded thing. ”

“ Count me the happiest woman born
To be so worshipped; I delight
To flaunt his homage in their sight,—
For me the rose, for them its thorn.
I love him—or I think I do;
Sure one MUST love what is so sweet. ”

“ That men for manhood's sake
Should give ungrudgingly, nor withhold till I must fight and take.
The fleet foot and the feeble foot
Both seek the self-same goal,
The weakest soldier's name is writ
On the great army-roll,
And God, who made man's body strong, made too the woman's soul
SOLSTICE. I. I sit at evening's scented close,
In fulness of the summer-tide;
All dewy fair the lily glows,
No single petal of the row;
Has fallen to dim the rose's pride.
Sweet airs, sweet harmonies of hue,
Surround, caress me everywhere ”

“ But the great Tree did no such thing;
He smiled to hear their whispering.
"Come, children all, to bed," he cried;
And ere the leaves could urge their prayer
He shook his head, and far and wide,
Fluttering and rustling everywhere,
Down sped the leaflets through the air.
I saw them; on the ground they lay,
Golden and red, a huddled swarm,
Waiting till one from far away,
White bed-clothes heaped upon her arm,
Should come to wrap them safe and warm. ”

“ EBB-TIDE. Long reaches of wet grasses sway
Where ran the sea but yesterday,
And white-winged boats at sunset drew
To anchor in the crimsoning blue.
The boats lie on the grassy plain,
Nor tug nor fret at anchor chain;
Their errand done, their impulse spent,
Chained by an alien element,
With sails unset they idly lie,
Though morning beckons brave and nigh;
Like wounded birds, their flight denied,
They lie, and long and wait the tide. ”

“ To us a thorn, to her a rose;
The year so black, the year so white,
Like rivers twain their course have run;
The earthly stream we trace and know,
But who shall paint the heavenly one?
A year! We gather up our powers,
Our lamps we consecrate and trim ”

“ Trembled with quickening thrills, and stirred.
Miraculous harvests spread and rolled,
The orchards shone with ruddy gold;
The flocks increased, increased the herd,
And a great nation spread and grew
From the swift lineage of the two,
Peopling the solitary place;
A fair and strong and fruitful race,
Who knew not pain nor want nor grief,
And Kintu reigned their lord and chief.
So sped three centuries along,
Till Kintu's sons waxed fierce and strong;
They learned to war, they loved to slay;
Cruel and dark grew all their faces ”

“ Who knows me best and loves me most has ordered this for me.
A woman, to live my life out
In quiet womanly ways,
Hearing the far-off battle,
Seeing as through a haze
The crowding, struggling world of men fight through their busy
days. ”

“ Close to our hearts one little word we lay:
We may not be as happy as we dream,
But then we—may.
SECRETS. In the long, bright summer, dear to bird and bee,
When the woods are standing in liveries green and gay,
Merry little voices sound from every tree,
And they whisper secrets all the day. ”

“ What is this alien thing, so near, so far,
Close to my life always, but blending never?
Hemmed in by walls whose crystal gates unbar
Not at the instance of my strong endeavor
To pierce the stronghold where their secrets are?
Buoyant, impalpable, relentless, thin,
Rise the clear, mocking walls. I strive in vain
To reach the pulsing heart that beats within,
Or with persistence of a cold disdain,
To quell the gladness which I may not win. ”

“ Perfumes and every precious thing;
And songs were sung, and prayers were prayed,
And priests danced jubilant all day.
But prone the king Ma-anda lay,
With ashes on his royal crest,
And groaned, and beat upon his breast,
And called on Kintu loud and wild:
"Father, come back, forgive thy child!"
Bitter the cry, but vain, all vain;
The grieved god came not again.
EASTER. When dawns on earth the Easter sun
The dear saints feel an answering thrill.
With whitest flowers their hands they fill ”

“ Her blowing winds but keep the rockers swinging,
And deepen slumber in the shut blue eyes,
And the shrill cadences of her high singing
Are to the babe but wonted lullabies.
She draws the coverlet white and tucks it trimly,
She folds the little sleeper safe from harm;
Or bends to lift the veil, and, peering inly,
Makes sure it lies all undisturbed and warm.
And so she sits, till in the still, gray dawning
Two fairer nurses come, her place to take,
And smiling, beaming, with no word of warning,
Draw off the quilt, and kiss the babe awake. ”

“ Again into sight bursts the rose of light
And opens its petals one by one.
Ah, the storm may be wild and the sea be strong,
And man is weak and the darkness long,
But while blossoms the flower on the light-house tower
There still is place for a smile and a song. ”

“ Cowards! At the high window overhead
They stood and trembled, while I plead and prayed:
"I am your child, Ginevra. Let me in!
I am not dead. In mercy, let me in!"
"The holy saints forbid!" declared my sire. ”

“ And hearts, o'erleaping place and age,
Melt into memories, and own
A thrill of common parentage.
Men die, but sorrow never dies;
The crowding years divide in vain,
And the wide world is knit with ties
Of common brotherhood in pain ”

“ Her sweet head framed against the blossoming bough,
She stood a moment,—and she stands there now!
'Tis sixteen years since, trustful, unafraid,
In her full noon of light,
She passed beneath the grass's curtaining shade,
Out of our mortal sight;
And springs and summers, bearing gifts to men,
And long, long winters have gone by since then. ”

“ All night the thirsty beach has listening lain,
With patience dumb,
Counting the slow, sad moments of her pain;
Now morn has come,
And with the morn the punctual tide again. ”

“ Never she draws more near, never I gain
A furlong's space toward where she sits and a miles;
Smiles and cares nothing for my love and pain.
How shall I win her? What may strong arm do
Against such gentle distance? ”

“ Spring's last-born darling, clear-eyed, sweet,
Pauses a moment, with white twinkling feet,
And golden locks in breezy play,
Half teasing and half tender, to repeat
Her song of "May." ”

“ Nipped by the furtive frosts, but cheery still,
Lifting to heaven from the bare garden place
A smiling face.
Roses are fair, but frail, and soon grow faint,
Nor can endure a hardness; violets blue,
Short-lived and sweet, live but a day or two ”

“ In the deep shadow of the porch
A slender bind-weed springs,
And climbs, like airy acrobat,
The trellises, and swings
And dances in the golden sun
In fairy loops and rings. ”

“ Every tear is answered by a blossom,
Every high with songs and laughter blent,
Apple-blooms upon the breezes toss them.
April knows her own, and is content. ”