Above her veil a shrouded Moorish maid
Showed melting eyes, as limpid as a lake;
A brow untouched by care; a band of jetty hair,
And nothing more. The all-concealing haik
Fell to her high arched instep. At her side
An old duenna walked; her withered face
Half covered only, since no lingering grace
Bespoke the beauty once her master’s pride.
Above her veil, the Moorish maid beheld
The modern world, in Paris-decked Algiers;
Saw happy lad and lass, in love’s contentment pass,
Or in sweet wholesome friendship, free from fears.
She saw fair matrons, walking arm-in-arm
With life-long lovers, time-endeared, and then
She saw the ardent look in eyes of men,
And thrilled and trembled with a vague alarm.
Above her veil she saw the stuccoed court
That led to dim secluded rooms within.
She followed, dutiful, the dame unbeautiful,
Who told her that the Christian world means sin.
Some day, full soon, she would go forth a bride—
Of one whose face she never had beheld.
Something within her, wakened, and rebelled;
She flung aside her veil, and cried, and cried.
LINCOLN
When God created this good world
A few stupendous peaks were hurled
From His strong hand, and they remain
The wonder of the level plain.
But these colossal heights are rare,
While shifting sands are everywhere.
So with the race. The centuries pass
And nations fall like leaves of grass.
They die, forgotten and unsung;
While straight from God some souls are flung,
To live immortal and sublime.
So lives great Lincoln for all time.
I KNOW NOT
Death! I know not what room you are abiding in,
But I will go my way,
Rejoicing day by day,
Nor will I flee or stay
For fear I tread the path you may be hiding in.
Death! I know not, if my small barque be nearing you;
But if you are at sea,
Still there my sails float free;
‘What is to be will be.’
Nor will I mar the happy voyage by fearing you.
Death! I know not, what hour or spot you wait for me;
My days untroubled flow,
Just trusting on, I go,
For oh, I know, I know,
Death is but Life that holds some glad new fate for me.