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The lading of a single pain, And part it, giving half to him.
But I remained, whose hopes were dim,
Whose life, whose thoughts were little worth
To wander on a darkened earth, Where all things round me breathed of him..
O friendship, equal-poised control,
O heart, with kindliest motion warm,
O sacred essence, other form,
Yet none could better know than I,
How much of act at human hands
The sense of human will demands By which we dare to live or die.
Whatever way my days decline,
I felt and feel, though left alone,
His being working in mine own, The footsteps of his life in mine.
My pulses therefore beat again
For other friends that once I met;
Nor can it suit me to forget The mighty hopes that make us men.
I woo your love : I count it crime
To mourn for any overmuch ;
I, the divided half of such A friendship as had mastered Time ;
Which masters Time, indeed, and is
Eternal, separate from fears :
The all-assuming months and years Can take no part away from this.
O days and hours, your work is this,
To hold me from my proper place,
A little while from his embrace, For fuller gain of after bliss :
That out of distance might ensue
Desire of nearness doubly sweet;
And unto meeting when we meet, Delight a hundred-fold accrue.
The hills are shadows, and they flow
From form to form, and nothing stands ;
They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go.
But in my spirit will I dwell,
And dream my dream, and hold it true ;
For though my lips may breathe adieu, I cannot think the thing farewell.
O friend beloved! I sit apart and dumb,
Sometimes in sorrow, oft in joy divine ; My lip will falter, but my prisoned heart Springs forth to measure its faint pulse with
Thou art to me most like a royal guest,
Whose travels bring him to some lowly roof, Where simple rustics spread their festal fare
And, blushing, own it is not good enough. Bethink thee, then, whene'er thou com'st to me,
From high emprise and noble toil to rest, My thoughts are weak and trivial, matched with
But the poor mansion offers thee its best,
JULIA WARD HOWE.
THE DEAD FRIEND.
The path by which we twain did go,
Which led by tracts that pleased us well,
Through four sweet years arose and fell, From flower to flower, from snow to snow.
But where the path we walked began
To slant the fifth autumnal slope,
As we descended following Hope, There sat the Shadow feared of man ;
Who broke our fair companionship,
And spread his mantle dark and cold,
And wrapped thee formless in the fold, And dulled the murmur on thy lip.
When each by turns was guide to each,
And Fancy light from Fancy caught,
And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech ;
And all we met was fair and good,
And all was good that Time could bring,
And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood;
I know that this was Life, - the track
Whereon with equal feet we fared ;
And then, as now, the day prepared
As light as carrier-birds in air ;
I loved the weight I had to bear Because it needed help of Love :
Nor could I weary, heart or limb,
When mighty Love would cleave in twain
COMPLIMENT AND ADMIRATION.
TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY.
'Twixt the souls of friend and friend : But upon the fairest boughs,
Or at every sentence end, Will I Rosalinda write;
Teaching all that read to know The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in little show. Therefore Heaven nature charged
That one body should be filled With all graces wide enlarged :
Nature presently distilled Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
Cleopatra's majesty, Atalanta's better part,
Sad Lucretia's modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts
By heavenly synod was devised ; Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,
To have the touches dearest prized. Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
And I to live and die her slave.
PHILLIS THE FAIR.
On a hill there grows a flower,
Fair befall the dainty sweet !
Where the heavenly muses meet.
In that bower there is a chair,
Fringéd all about with gold,
That ever eye did yet behold.
It is Phillis, fair and bright,
She that is the shepherd's joy,
And did blind her little boy.
Who would not that face admire ?
Who would not this saint adore !
Though he thought to see no more.
Thou that art the shepherd's queen,
Look upon thy love-sick swain ;
Dead men brought to life again.
A VIOLET in her lovely hair,
But O, her eyes
That's 'neath the skies.
Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi-god
A lute beneath her graceful hand Breathes music forth at her command ;
But still her tongue Far richer music calls to birth Than all the minstrel power on earth
Can give to song
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both,
GIVE PLACE, YE LOVERS. GIVE place, ye lovers, here before
That spent your boasts and brags in vain ; My lady's beauty passeth more
The best of yours, I dare well sayen,
As had Penelope the fair ;
As it by writing sealed were :
The whole effect of Nature's plaint, When she had lost the perfect mould,
The like to whom she could not paint : With wringing nds, how she did cry, And what she said, I know it aye. I know she swore with raging mind,
Her kingdom only set apart, There was no loss by law of kind
That could have gone so near her heart; And this was chiefly all her pain ; “She could not make the like again.” Sith Nature thus gave her the praise,
To be the chiefest work she wrought,
On your behalf might well be sought,
YOU MEANER BEAUTIES.
WHENAS IN SILKS MY JULIA GOES.
WHENAs in silks my Julia goes
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
I DO NOT LOVE THEE FOR THAT FAIR.
I do not love thee for that fair
I do not love thee for those flowers
I do not love thee for those soft
I do not love thee, O my fairest,
*THE FORWARD VIOLET THUS DID I
The forward violet thus did I chide :-
You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes
You common people of the skies,
What are you when the moon shall rise ? You curious chanters of the wood,
That warble forth Dame Nature's lays,
By your weak accents,— what's your praise