Poems

April, 1889: Printed for the Author by J. J. Anslow. Windsor, N. S.
Sonnets :—
Rondeaux :—
THEY stream across the fading western sky A sable cloud, far o'er the lonely leas; Now parting into scattered companies, Now closing up the broken ranks, still high And higher yet they mount, while, carelessly, Trail slow behind, athwart the moving trees A lingering few, 'round whom the evening breeze Plays with sad whispered murmurs as they fly.
A lonely figure, ghostly in the dim And darkening twilight, lingers in the shade Of bending willows: Surely God has laid His curse on me, he moans, my strength of limb And old heart-courage fail me, and I flee Bowed with fell terror at this augury.
WHAT of our life when this frail flesh lies low A withered clod, and the free soul has burst Through the world-fetters? Not of souls accursed With cherished lusts that mar them, those who sow Evil and reap the harvest, and who bow At Mammon's golden shrine, but those who thirst For Truth, and see not,—spirits deep immersed In doubt and trouble,—hearts that fain would know?
The soul is satisfied. The spirit trained For the divine, because the beautiful, Now with the body gone, free and unstained, Doubts swept away like clouds of scattering wool Before a blast,—e'er Heaven's pure paths are trod Is perfected to understand its God.
THERE is no God? If one should stand at noon Where the glow rests, and the warm sunlight plays, Where earth is gladdened by the cordial rays And blossoms answering, where the calm lagoon Gives back the brightness of the heart of June, And he should say: There is no sun —the day's Fair shew still round him,—should we lose the blaze And warmth, and weep that day has gone so soon?
Nay, there would be one word, one only thought, The man is blind! and throbs of pitying scorn Would rouse the heart, and stir the wondering mind. We feel , and see , and therefore know ,—the morn With blush of youth ne'er left us till it brought Promise of full-grown day. The man is blind!