"A wife is like an unknown sea,
Least known to him who thinks he knows
Where all the shores of Promise be,
And where the islands of Repose--
And where the rocks that he must flee."
[WHY THE SPRING IS LATE.]
To Miss Eva Russell.
The spring time is deaf to our pleading,
The meadows are brown as can be.
The hilltops are bleak and unlovely,
No thrush sits and sings on the tree.
I hear many practical people
Explain why the spring loiters so,
But, dear one, they all are mistaken:
The true reason I alone know.
The South-wind, Spring's hand-maiden, told me
Her mistress declared, o'er and o'er,
That, till you were here to give greeting,
She'd visit our prairies no more.
And all her vast household stand by her!
The thrush says he cannot come here
And sing the old songs that you loved so,
Unless you are lingering near.
The wild pinks that rival your blushes,
The violets blue as the sky,
Declare it no pleasure to blossom
Unseen by your beautiful eye.
Oh darling! I'm loath to upbraid you,
So come without further delay.
Each moment you linger, remember
You are keeping the spring time away.
Then come! we are waiting to welcome
The birds and the flowers, 'tis true;
But warmer than all is the welcome,
Fair girl, that is waiting for you.
[RIVER AND SEA.]
Under the light of the silver moon,
We two sat, when our hearts were young;
The night was warm with the breath of June,
And loud from the meadow the cricket sung,
And darker and deeper, oh love, than the sea,
Were your dear eyes, as they beamed on me.
The moon hung clear, and the night was still;
The waters reflected the glittering skies;
The nightingale sang on the distant hill;
But sweeter than all was the light in your eyes--
Your dear, dark eyes, your eyes like the sea--
And up from the depths shone love for me.
My heart, like a river, was mad and wild--
And a river is not deep, like the sea;
But I said your love was the love of a child,
Compared with the love that was felt by me;
A river leaps noisily, kissing the land,
But the sea is fathomless, deep and grand.