Virna Sheard

“ On a morning road where the wind is strong,
I may learn again to whistle a song.
Down forest paths, or the ways of the sea,
My soul and my faith may come back to me.
And always and ever beneath the skies,
I will look for a woman with honest eyes.
I will follow no will at all but my own,
And the road I take I will take alone.
"Some day," I said, "before Life is over,
I will shut my house door, and will be a rover." ”

“ Catches upon her rose-edged robes a star;
And often I have seen at Midnight's hour
The blooming of the Moon's gold wonder-flower.
O look, look, out upon the lovely earth
And take the gift she gave thee at thy birth!
Whate'er betides—all beauty still is thine,—
Drink deep—as did the old gods—of its wine!
A LOVE SONG Oh haste thee, Sweet! Impatient now I wait,
The crescent moon swings low,—it groweth late,—
A night-bird sings of Life, and Love, and Fate!—
Oh haste, my Sweet! ”

“ They have made the wind salt—the wind at my door;
They harm the good ground—so of weeping—no more.
"Not again!" "Not again!"
Do you hear the sea singing that one refrain?
The pine trees, the wind and the wearysome rain
All whisper it; "Never again!"—"Not again!"
Who can tell me—who knows,
Where his lonely soul travels?
Whither it goes?—
Has he gone like the leaves?—Like yesterday's snows?—
Speak, dear Lord of Death! You who died—and arose!
THE BRIDGE OF DREAMS The thought of thee is like a swinging tune,
A little swinging tune I seem to hear ”

“ Wind of the sea;
If you are tender they may miss love less—
Where'er they be.
Come, gentle moon, swing low your lantern light
On reddened fields,
And find the lonely harvest of the night
That battle yields.
Banish the darkness filled with quivering dread,
Lest they should know
Some last strange horror,—even they—the dead;—
Sweet moon, swing low!
Fold them at dawn, dear Earth, within your arms
So safe and strong;
Hold them asleep till they forget alarms,
And woe and wrong.
Master of Kings! If peace be bought with pain,
These paid the price ”

“ THE CROSSES The little lonely crosses, the crosses low and white,
They haunt me most in the silver hour
That lies against the night;
Or when the rose-dusk dawn comes in,
With a star for candlelight.
The little lonely crosses in fields so far away,
They cast a shadow on my path—
And, take which road I may,
It follows, follows, follows—
Throughout the livelong day.
O little lonely crosses that gentle hands have made,
You mean to us forevermore
The price that has been paid
For a heritage of Freedom,
And a People unafraid. ”

“ Run too lightly with the wind,—chased too many shining wings;
Thought too seldom of the night, and the silence that it brings.
Well I fear me I have been but an idler in the sun;
All unfinished are the tasks long and long ago begun;—
In the dark perchance they weep, who have left their work undone. ”

“ For dawn steps down the morning sky, in robes of gray and rose.
O fairies of the forest-ring, and little men in green,
And pixies of the moonlight, and elves no eye hath seen,
Brew us a magic potion, of deep and fairy power,
A draught of Lethe—for one night—to tide us past that hour.
THE FAIRY CLOCK Silver clock! O silver clock! tell to me the time o' day!
Is there yet a little hour left for us to work and play?
Tell me when the sun will set—tiny globe of silver-grey?
It has been so glad a world since the coming of the morn;—
Oft I wondered, when I met any souls who seemed forlorn ”

“ Moon-touched, and tranquil and dear,—
I, alone, walk to and fro,—
Come to me here!
BEFORE THE DAWN In that one darkest hour, before the dawn is here,
Each soul of us goes sailing, close to the coast of Fear. ”

“ This tawny gold ring where the shadows die
God doth enamel the blue of His sky.
Through the scented dark when the night wind sighs
He mirrors His stars where the ripples rise
Till they glitter like prisoned fireflies. ”

“ Gather a balm to heal some earth-born sorrow,
When their glad day is done.
THE SHEPHERD WIND When hills and plains are powdered white,
And bitter cold the north wind blows,
Upon my window in the night
A fairy-garden grows. ”

“ Green are the uplands where the little lambs go,
Green and glad the forests that are old.
Once again the summer weaves on her magic loom,
Cloth of clover,—fairy web of wheat;—
Only Mary's alabaster box of perfume
Ever made the passing wind more sweet. ”

“ A tiny brook sun-dappled, that frets and sings and worries,
A rough adventurous little brook that calls and calls to me!
Windy March weather, and the old spring madness
Tempting us to take the trail that wanders free and far,—
Whispering of magic roads that wind to lands of gladness,
Where vanished joys and lost delights and garnered treasures are!
ON SILVER NIGHTS On silver nights I cannot sleep;—
The ancient moon from far above,
Bids me arise, and run and keep
A rendezvous with one I love. ”

“ And wrapped in shining blue, and emerald green;
They drift through opalescent ocean caves,
That only God Himself hath ever seen.
The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall,
Touches them softly, as it passes by;—
I think the silver sea gulls know them all,
And greet them with their lonely tender cry. ”

“ The clash of arms sounds through them like a knell;
I weary of the Kings in crowns of gold,
The Kings victorious, and the Kings who fell.
There are too many tears on every page;
Too red a tide sweeps every chapter in;
There is no word of peace in any age,
Except the peace that death rode forth to win. ”

“ And well I know where at the grey of morn
They threaded dew on cob-web, weed and thorn!
Lights of the Northern skies—and dancing flames,
And flowing seas—your colors have no names!
Day-shine across the uplands how you pass
Chased by the filmy shadows on the grass! ”

“ Were I a rose out in the garden growing
My sweetness I would give the vagrant breeze—
For he, perchance, might meet thee all unknowing—
Yet bring thee memories.
THE NIGHT OF ALL SAINTS It is an old belief that on the night of All Saints, "Hallowe'en," the spirits of the dead return, so each year there is made a beloved feast. ”