I know not by what name to call thee, thou Who reignest supreme, sole sovereign of my heart! Thou who the lode-star of my being art, Thou before whom my soul delights to bow! What shall I call thee? Teach me some dear name Better than all the rest, that I may pour All that the years have taught me of love’s lore In one fond word. “Lover?” But that’s too tame, And “Friend”’s too cold, though thou art both to me. Art thou my King? Kings sit enthroned afar, And crowns less meet for love than reverence are, While both my heart gives joyfully to thee. Art thou—but, ah! I’ll cease the idle quest: I cannot tell what name befits thee best!
UNDER THE PALM-TREES
We were children together, you and I; We trod the same paths in days of old; Together we watched the sunset sky, And counted its bars of massive gold. And when from the dark horizon’s brim The moon stole up with its silver rim, And slowly sailed through the fields of air, We thought there was nothing on earth so fair.
You walk to-night where the jasmines grow, And the Cross looks down from the tropic skies; Where the spicy breezes softly blow, And the slender shafts of the palm-trees rise. You breathe the breath of the orange-flowers, And the perfumed air of the myrtle-bowers; You pluck the acacia’s golden balls, And mark where the red pomegranate falls.
I stand to-night on the breezy hill, Where the pine-trees sing as they sang of yore; The north star burneth clear and still, And the moonbeams silver your father’s door. I can see the hound as he lies asleep, In the shadow close by the old well-sweep, And hear the river’s murmuring flow As we two heard it long ago.
Do you think of the firs on the mountain-side As you walk to-night where the palm-trees grow? Of the brook where the trout in the darkness hide? Of the yellow willows waving slow? Do you long to drink of the crystal spring, In the dell where the purple harebells swing? Would your pulses leap could you hear once more The sound of the flail on the threshing-floor?
Ah! the years are long, and the world is wide, And the salt sea rolls our hearts between; And never again at eventide Shall we two gaze on the same fair scene. But under the palm-trees wandering slow, You think of the spreading elms I know; And you deem our daisies fairer far Than the gorgeous blooms of the tropics are!
NIGHT AND MORNING
I.
Night and darkness over all! Nature sleeps beneath a pall; Not a ray from moon or stars Glimmers through the cloudy bars; Huge and black the mountains stand Frowning upon either hand, And the river, dark and deep, Gropes its way from steep to steep. Yonder tree, whose young leaves played In the sunshine and the shade, Stretches out its arms like one Sudden blindness hath undone. Pale and dim the rose-queen lies Robbed of all her gorgeous dyes, And the lily bendeth low, Mourner in a garb of woe. Never a shadow comes or goes, Never a gleam its glory throws Over cottage or over hall— Darkness broodeth over all!