THE MAID THAT I WOOED

AN ODE IN MINIATURE

I lie upon my couch by night,
And dream, and dream—
Until the quavering shadow-light
Her portraiture doth seem—
Until the breeze's moaning saith
In limpid-lapping stream,
The same denial she answereth.
I lie upon my couch by night,
And yearn, and yearn—
Until the flickering breeze's flight
Bring kisses that would burn—
Until my soul could moan with pain—
Oh, wherefore should she spurn
My love again, and yet again?
I toss upon my couch by night;
I yearn; I yearn—
Until I see the glimmering light
Upon the east return—
Until with passion-pulsing breath,
I pray my lady stern:
"Oh, let me win thee, sweetest Death—"
December 27, 1912.

IN A MINOR CHORD

AN ODE IN MINIATURE

I gave my soul to dreams sense-glorified;
I bathed in bliss-exhaling balm.
I sailed through boundless ether Tyrian-dyed,
And breathed the luscious calm.
Tense were my heart-strings tuned;
And, madly quavering as I sighed,
Their music sadly waxed and wailed—then swooned,
And floated feebly down in ebbing tide.
I gave my soul to battle. I defied
All the unlovable in life;
I could have bartered Heavenly bliss and died
Willingly in the strife!
To elevate mankind,
Mine inward power, I strove to guide;
I harnessed the puissance of the mind,
And toward that end all be magnified!
I gave my soul to dreams sense-glorified
Till sated pleasure sank to pain.
I gave my soul to battle. I defied
The sordid; but in vain—
Still, still, my spirit wept;
Its goal was hopeless, deified.
Oh, would this saddened soul had ever slept
Unborn; for slumber is a painless guide.
December 3, 1912.