Daisy Dare, and Baby Power / Poems

by Rosa Vertner Jeffrey

Her voice was deep, the words were light,
The hands upheld were small and white,—
Such hands as strong men love to grasp
And crush in an impassioned clasp.
"Oh, do not mock me, Daisy Dare,
With your small hands so soft and fair;
They may beguile both lovers—true;
You cannot give your heart to two.
"One or the other let it be;
If Allen Gray, you're lost to me:
If me, all hearts you must resign,—
All homage and all love save mine.
"My guiding star across the brine,
Has been the hope that called you mine;
I'd rather see that load-star set,
Than wed a fair, false, vain coquette.
"I'd rather trust, though seas divide,
Than linger doubting by your side:
Now speak, what turns your heart away;
The love of gold or Allen Gray?"
Up rose her spirit, quick and proud;
And, as through a translucent cloud
Pour crimson streams of torrid light,
The red blood dyed her forehead white.
"I have not broken faith or vow,"
She said; "but do release you now.
My heart cannot be bought or sold
By Allen Gray with love or gold.
"I trifled with him but to try
Your faith in me: I'd rather die
Than wed a man of jealous heart:
You cannot trust me, let us part.
"The jealous love you bring to me,
(As yonder green, impulsive sea
Unto the shore doth come and go,)
In passion tides would ebb and flow.
"And as that surf, in fitful swells,
Doth bring or bear away the shells
From yonder strand,—such passion, strife
Would fill, or desolate my life.
"Such earthly crown of love to wear,
The cross it brings I would not bear;
Here! see me cast the burden down:
Go!—for I yield you up the crown."
The angry flush had faded now,
Leaving her bosom, cheek, and brow
Whiter than sea-foam 'neath the moon;
Her low voice as sad wind-harp's tune.
She waved her hand and turned away:
He caught it, crying, "Daisy, stay!
Let not a flash of passion-pride
Two clinging hearts like ours divide."
She stood before him haughty, cold:
"You taunted me with love of gold—
Who wealth and titles scorned—to be
The chosen bride of Graham Lee."
"This choice, perhaps, you now regret,
And crave a titled suitor yet;
Hearts that are anchored side by side,
No surface-ripple can divide."
His words were bitter in their turn,
And, like sharp acid on a burn,
They scorched her heart, and seared the spot
Where blossomed love's "forget-me-not."
Oh, why are darts of anger hurled
From heart to heart throughout the world;
Fierce as the lightning—flashing far,
From cloud to cloud, its red-hot bar?
So quick, so sharp, too oft it cleaves
The sandal-chain of love, and leaves
But fragrant, broken, links at last
To bind us to a ruined past.
Too often fixing deeps of woe
Between us and the long ago;
Bridging a gulf toward mem'ries green,
With one regret—"it might have been."
Oh, why, when life is in its June
Of fruity fragrance, perfect tune,
Does passion's stormy pride destroy
Youths' heritage of love and joy?
One jealous breath will oft disclose
A canker in hope's perfect rose,
For the false fever heat of strife
To nurse, and nourish into life.
Oh, Daisy Dare! the sea is wide:
Dear is the lover by thy side:
The sea is treacherous, hungry, deep,
And millions o'er its treasures weep.
His heart relented—strong hearts do;
Yet more relenting, oft less true
Than those, unyielding, that defy
The deathless love of which they die.
"As forest saplings, by the sun
Together knit till two are one—
One trunk, one bark, one sap, one tree—
Our hearts have been, should ever be.
"Let sharp steel cleave that circling rind,
No art its severed strength could bind;
Should anger part thy love from mine,
Holds earth another heart for thine?"
Oh, stubborn pride! unyielding still;
Her heart is conquered; but her will
Defies its tender, pleading tone:
She left him—they were both alone.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
When eve her golden goblet fills
Among the sunset's purple hills,
And overflows that sunset wine
In streams of glory on the brine,
Unto the shore a maiden came,
Who gazed where, down that track of flame
A steamer to the west did dip:
Her heart went outward with the ship.
She had not kept her tryst that day,
Nor waved her hand to Allen Gray:
Both little hands were still—'twas true
She could not "give her heart to two."
She heard the parting signals sound,
And then the haughty pride that bound
Her woman's heart, which had defied
Her woman's love, grew faint and died.

"She wandered hopeless to the strand,
And, hopeless, westward waved her hand."

She heard the steamship's iron bell;
Turned to the shore, but faltered, fell—
For ocean steamers do not wait
On love—her pride gave way too late.
"Too late!" she heard it rise and swell,
Tolled by the iron steamer's bell;
Told by the mocking voice of Fate,
Rung through her heart, "too late!" "too late!"
And now, when from that outward bound,
Defiant distance brought no sound,
She wandered hopeless to the strand,
And, hopeless, westward waved her hand.

The steamer's black smoke drifting far
Rose up and hid the evening star:
A bitter symbol of that strife
Between love's day-star and her life.
In the late gloaming's purple gloom
She wandered home; but half the bloom
Had faded from her cheek and lips:
Love's orient was in eclipse.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
"The ship went down!" such message crossed
The lightning wire, and all were lost
Save Captain Gray, and two or three;
Among them was not Graham Lee.
From Daisy's hand the paper fell;
No cry she uttered, but a swell
Of anguish through her heart did sweep,
Bearing it downward to the deep.
As the green pallor of a storm
A summer landscape doth deform,
Making a livid shadow grow
Athwart the noon-day's ruddy glow,
Across the future once so fair,
So ripe with joy for Daisy Dare,
Fate's cruel sickle swept, and left
Life of its golden harvest reft.

"Turning her white cheek from the light,
Clasping her small hands fiercely tight!"