Each told its tale, for hath not Grief
A voice whose echoes never die?
Adown the ages, Rachel’s cry
Still rings o’er some God-garnered sheaf.
Mine eyes, ne’er prodigal of tears,
Did fill with such as seemed to rise
And drown the glory of the skies,
O’er those who’d slept the sleep of years.
SECRETS
July roses wet with rain
Tap against the window-pane;
There is something they would seek,
Had they voices and could speak.
Silence seals their crimson lips,
And the dull rain drops and drips.
Th’ other side the streaming glass
Stands a little sad-eyed lass;
There is something she would seek,
But a maiden may not speak—
Silence seals her longing lips,
And the dull rain drops and drips.
And salt tears in showers stain
Her side of the window-pane;
And the crimson roses grow
Pale as dreams dreamt long ago;
(Hearts may break behind sealed lips),
And the dull rain drops and drips.
REVEALED—NOT SPOKEN
The little maiden that I love,
I met in yonder lane;
A flood of sunshine seemed to fall
Around her as she came.
Methought the very hedgerows took
A tenderer, livelier green,
And blossoms burst from every bud
As she passed on between!
And gladder, madder, merrier notes
A skylark round him threw,
As high above her golden head,
He poised amid the blue.