The Pet Name Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; 439 Dear as remembered kisses after death, THE PET NAME the name Which from their lips seemed a caress." -MISS MILFORD'S "DRAMATIC SCENES Though I write books, it will be read And afterward, when I am dead, Will ne'er be graved for sight or tread, Across my funeral-stone. "" This name, whoever chance to call, Is there a leaf, that greenly grows Is there a word, or jest, or game, Assumes a mournful sound. My brother gave that name to me No shade was on us then, save one Of chestnuts from the hill; And through the word our laugh did run As part thereof: the mirth being done, He calls me by it still. Nay, do not smile! I hear in it What none of you can hear, The talk upon the willow seat, I hear the birthday's noisy bliss My sisters' woodland glee, Threescore and Ten And voices which, to name me, aye An answer till God wipes away In heaven these drops of weeping. My name to me a sadness wears: No murmurs cross my mind Now God be thanked for these thick tears, Now God be thanked for years enwrought Now God be thanked for every thought Earth's guerdon of regret. Earth saddens, never shall remove Affections purely given; And e'en that mortal grief shall prove The immortality of love, And heighten it with Heaven. 441 Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] THREESCORE AND TEN WHO reach their threescore years and ten, As I have mine, without a sigh, Are either more or less than menNot such am I. I am not of them; life to me Has been a strange, bewildering dream, I thought, I hoped, I knew one thing, And had one gift, when I was young— To have a place in the high choir I sought it long, but never found; Men would not hear me then, and now The best of life went long ago From me; it was not much at best; Only the love that young hearts know, The dear unrest. Back on my past, through gathering tears, They left me here, they left me there, And I go on! And bad or good, I have endured as best I could, Richard Henry Stoddard [1825-1903] RAIN ON THE ROOF WHEN the humid shadows hover Rain on the Roof What a bliss to press the pillow Of a cottage-chamber bed, And to listen to the patter Of the soft rain overhead! Every tinkle on the shingles Weave their air-threads into woof, As I listen to the patter Of the rain upon the roof. Now in memory comes my mother, Ere she left them till the dawn; Then my little seraph sister, With her wings and waving hair, And her star-eyed cherub brotherA serene angelic pair Glide around my wakeful pillow, With their praise or mild reproof, As I listen to the murmur Of the soft rain on the roof. And another comes, to thrill ine I remember but to love her With a passion kin to pain, 443 |