Maurine and Other Poems - Ella Wheeler Wilcox

"By‑and‑by," the maiden sighed—"by‑and‑by
He will claim me for his bride,
Hope is strong and time is fleet;
Youth is fair, and love is sweet,
Clouds will pass that fleck my sky.
He will come back by‑and‑by—by‑and‑by."
"By‑and‑by," the soldier said—"by‑and‑by,
After I have fought and bled,
I shall go home from the wars,
Crowned with glory, seamed with scars.
Joy will flash from some one's eye
When she greets me by‑and‑by—by‑and‑by."
"By‑and‑by," the mother cried—"by‑and‑by,
Strong and sturdy at my side,
Like a staff supporting me,
Will my bonnie baby be.
Break my rest, then, wail and cry—
Thou'lt repay me by‑and‑by—by‑and‑by."
Fleeting years of time have sped—hurried by—
Still the maiden is unwed;
All unknown the soldier lies,
Buried under alien skies;
And the son, with blood‑shot eye
Saw his mother starve and die.
God in Heaven! dost Thou on high,
Keep the promised by‑and‑by—by‑and‑by?

OVER THE MAY HILL.

All through the night time, and all through the day time,
Dreading the morning and dreading the night,
Nearer and nearer we drift to the May time
Season of beauty and season of blight,
Leaves on the linden, and sun on the meadow,
Green in the garden, and bloom everywhere,
Gloom in my heart, and a terrible shadow,
Walks by me, sits by me, stands by my chair.
Oh, but the birds by the brooklet are cheery,
Oh, but the woods show such delicate greens,
Strange how you droop and how soon you are weary—
Too well I know what that weariness means.
But how could I know in the crisp winter weather
(Though sometimes I noticed a catch in your breath),
Riding and singing and dancing together,
How could I know you were racing with death?
How could I know when we danced until morning,
And you were the gayest of all the gay crowd—
With only that shortness of breath for a warning,
How could I know that you danced for a shroud?
Whirling and whirling through moonlight and starlight,
Rocking as lightly as boats on the wave,
Down in your eyes shone a deep light—a far light,
How could I know 'twas the light to your grave?
Day by day, day by day, nearing and nearing,
Hid under greenness, and beauty and bloom,
Cometh the shape and the shadow I'm fearing,
"Over the May hill" is waiting your tomb.
The season of mirth and of music is over—
I have danced my last dance, I have sung my last song,
Under the violets, under the clover,
My heart and my love will be lying ere long.

A SONG.

Is any one sad in the world, I wonder?
Does any one weep on a day like this,
With the sun above, and the green earth under?
Why, what is life but a dream of bliss?
With the sun, and the skies, and the birds above me,
Birds that sing as they wheel and fly—
With the winds to follow and say they love me—
Who could be lonely? O ho, not I!
Somebody said, in the street this morning,
As I opened my window to let in the light,
That the darkest day of the world was dawning;
But I looked, and the East was a gorgeous sight.
One who claims that he knows about it
Tells me the Earth is a vale of sin;
But I and the bees and the birds—we doubt it,
And think it a world worth living in.
Some one says that hearts are fickle,
That love is sorrow, that life is care,
And the reaper Death, with his shining sickle,
Gathers whatever is bright and fair.
I told the thrush, and we laughed together,
Laughed till the woods were all a‑ring:
And he said to me, as he plumed each feather,
"Well, people must croak, if they cannot sing."
Up he flew, but his song, remaining,
Rang like a bell in my heart all day,
And silenced the voices of weak complaining,
That pipe like insects along the way.
O world of light, and O world of beauty!
Where are there pleasures so sweet as thine?
Yes, life is love, and love is duty;
And what heart sorrows? O no, not mine!