On the Lawn
Then Delia with the dulcet voice came down
Where, on the lawn, beneath the maples' shade,
I sat with Lilian. In her hand she held
An open book; and, throwing off her hat,
While o'er her shoulders drooped her raven hair,
And her lips trembled like the rose of June
When first the wandering zephyr comes to woo:
“Here in this book,” she said,—in faltering tones,
As sweet and sad as those the cuckoo frames,
Hid in her leafy covert, when the wind
Sighs from the east and clouds are set for rain,—
“This book of love-lore, I have found a cry
Wrung from the heart; a simple, passionate strain
That makes me weep for pity. Let me read:”
No! I never can forget!
But my eyes must still be wet
With these unavailing tears
Through the wearying lapse of years;
And my cheek, so wan and faded,
Still must be the deepest shaded;
Never more can earthly balm
Bring my brow a moment's calm.
O the golden eve we met!
In the sea the sun had set;
Not a cloud to break the wide
Blaze of glory where the tide
And the sky shone, molten one,
As if earth and time were done;
So they were for you and me!
And the wind blew fresh and free
Down the sandy, sparkling shore:
Still I hear the breakers roar,
And the circling gulls behold,
Snow against the sunset gold.
Then, O mystery divine!
Each of each said, “Thou art mine!”
Saw it in the beaming eye,
Heard it in the rising sigh,
Felt it in the thrill that crept
Through our pulses as we stept
O'er the boat-side, and afar
Sailed to greet the vesper star.
Canst thou tell how feeling stole
Up, at last, to words, and soul
Mixed with soul, as wave with wave
Rolled that shining shore to lave?
If thou canst, I'll tell thee how
Leaf-buds open on the bough;
Lilies whiten in the lake;
Birds their sweet election make.
Ah! the miracle is old;
We were mated, wedded, given
With a sweetness manifold
Up to all earth knows of heaven.
And, despite these cruel years,
Bitter partings, silent tears,
Still I know the purpose stands,—
We have but unclasped our hands
Till across the shoreless sea
Thou shalt sail and dream with me!
No! I never can forget!
In the land that knows no sorrow
We shall claim each other yet!
Still through scorn and grief and blame,
Outward frost and inward flame,
Wait I for the blissful morrow
That shall dawn where nought, I ween,
Cometh wedded souls between!
All the airs of heaven will play
Soft about us on the day
We shall pledge ourselves to be
Lovers through eternity.
So, when earthly suns are set,
Dearest love! I can forget!
“Alas!” laughed Lilian, “what a woful case!”
Be sure the lady shut herself in gloom
Of mouldy rooms, and scorned the kindly love
That might have come to make her cheerful still;
Nor ever crossed her door to greet the sun,
Nor gathered violets under April skies,
Nor played with children in the winter eves;
Thus she had dried her tears. Give me the book,
And if I cannot find a gayer song,
One whose pure honey is not turned to gall,
I'll say it is no hive of love. Lo, here,—
Here is a pleasant rhyme:”
Morn of Eden! All the angels must have warbled through the air
Just as dawn was lighting darkness slowly westward, silver fair;
Never south wind blew so balmy from the dusky wood-land dells,
Never lark such song uplifted where the crimson clover swells;
Now the sunlight floods the valley and the crown of joy is mine,—
I shall wed my dove, my darling, ere another morning shine.
Peerless Daisy! down the meadow I can see thy windows gleam,
Curtained still, for thou dost slumber, lost in some delicious dream;
So it be of me and thee, love, sleep may smooth thy tresses brown
Till thy mother wake thee: “Daisy, thou must wear thy wedding-gown.”
So it be of me and thee, love, thou shalt stir not for the sun,
And from this May night forever will thy dream and mine be one.
With the waning purple twilight will the guests begin to meet,
And the house be full of music and the mirth of dancing feet;
I shall only see my Daisy, with the white rose in her hair,
And the blushing face beneath it, O a thousand times as fair!
And be glad when gayly backward is the latest parting thrown,
And, within the silent portal, we are left with love alone.
Ah, happy Lilian! As she ceased I saw,
Clasped in her azure belt, the lily buds
Young Gerald gathered from the lake at morn.
What had regret or grief to do with her?
Where, on the lawn, beneath the maples' shade,
I sat with Lilian. In her hand she held
An open book; and, throwing off her hat,
While o'er her shoulders drooped her raven hair,
And her lips trembled like the rose of June
When first the wandering zephyr comes to woo:
“Here in this book,” she said,—in faltering tones,
As sweet and sad as those the cuckoo frames,
Hid in her leafy covert, when the wind
Sighs from the east and clouds are set for rain,—
“This book of love-lore, I have found a cry
Wrung from the heart; a simple, passionate strain
That makes me weep for pity. Let me read:”
No! I never can forget!
But my eyes must still be wet
With these unavailing tears
Through the wearying lapse of years;
And my cheek, so wan and faded,
Still must be the deepest shaded;
Never more can earthly balm
Bring my brow a moment's calm.
O the golden eve we met!
In the sea the sun had set;
Not a cloud to break the wide
Blaze of glory where the tide
And the sky shone, molten one,
As if earth and time were done;
So they were for you and me!
And the wind blew fresh and free
Down the sandy, sparkling shore:
Still I hear the breakers roar,
And the circling gulls behold,
Snow against the sunset gold.
Then, O mystery divine!
Each of each said, “Thou art mine!”
Saw it in the beaming eye,
Heard it in the rising sigh,
Felt it in the thrill that crept
Through our pulses as we stept
O'er the boat-side, and afar
Sailed to greet the vesper star.
Canst thou tell how feeling stole
Up, at last, to words, and soul
Mixed with soul, as wave with wave
Rolled that shining shore to lave?
If thou canst, I'll tell thee how
Leaf-buds open on the bough;
Lilies whiten in the lake;
Birds their sweet election make.
Ah! the miracle is old;
We were mated, wedded, given
With a sweetness manifold
Up to all earth knows of heaven.
And, despite these cruel years,
Bitter partings, silent tears,
Still I know the purpose stands,—
We have but unclasped our hands
Till across the shoreless sea
Thou shalt sail and dream with me!
No! I never can forget!
In the land that knows no sorrow
We shall claim each other yet!
Still through scorn and grief and blame,
Outward frost and inward flame,
Wait I for the blissful morrow
That shall dawn where nought, I ween,
Cometh wedded souls between!
All the airs of heaven will play
Soft about us on the day
We shall pledge ourselves to be
Lovers through eternity.
So, when earthly suns are set,
Dearest love! I can forget!
“Alas!” laughed Lilian, “what a woful case!”
Be sure the lady shut herself in gloom
Of mouldy rooms, and scorned the kindly love
That might have come to make her cheerful still;
Nor ever crossed her door to greet the sun,
Nor gathered violets under April skies,
Nor played with children in the winter eves;
Thus she had dried her tears. Give me the book,
And if I cannot find a gayer song,
One whose pure honey is not turned to gall,
I'll say it is no hive of love. Lo, here,—
Here is a pleasant rhyme:”
Morn of Eden! All the angels must have warbled through the air
Just as dawn was lighting darkness slowly westward, silver fair;
Never south wind blew so balmy from the dusky wood-land dells,
Never lark such song uplifted where the crimson clover swells;
Now the sunlight floods the valley and the crown of joy is mine,—
I shall wed my dove, my darling, ere another morning shine.
Peerless Daisy! down the meadow I can see thy windows gleam,
Curtained still, for thou dost slumber, lost in some delicious dream;
So it be of me and thee, love, sleep may smooth thy tresses brown
Till thy mother wake thee: “Daisy, thou must wear thy wedding-gown.”
So it be of me and thee, love, thou shalt stir not for the sun,
And from this May night forever will thy dream and mine be one.
With the waning purple twilight will the guests begin to meet,
And the house be full of music and the mirth of dancing feet;
I shall only see my Daisy, with the white rose in her hair,
And the blushing face beneath it, O a thousand times as fair!
And be glad when gayly backward is the latest parting thrown,
And, within the silent portal, we are left with love alone.
Ah, happy Lilian! As she ceased I saw,
Clasped in her azure belt, the lily buds
Young Gerald gathered from the lake at morn.
What had regret or grief to do with her?
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.