Whereat their stupid tongues, to And down the hollow from a ferny tease my pain, Do draw it o'er again and o'er again. They hurt my heart with griefs I cannot name: Always the same, the same. Nature hath no surprise, No ambuscade of beauty, 'gainst mine eyes From brake, or lurking dell, or deep defile; No humors, frolic forms,- this mile, that mile; No rich reserves or happy-valley hopes Beyond the bends of roads, the distant slopes. Her fancy fails, her wild is all run tame: Ever the same, the same. Oh! might I through these tears But glimpse some hill my Georgia high uprears, Where white the quartz, and pink the pebbles shine, The hickory heavenward strives, the muscadine Swings o'er the slope; the oak's farfalling shade Darkens the dog-wood in the bottom glade, nook Bright leaps a living brook! BETRAYAL. THE sun has kissed the violet sea, And turned the violet to a rose. O Sea! wouldst thou not better be Mere violet still? Who knows? who knows? Well hides the violet in the wood: The sun has burnt the rose-red sea: LUCY LARCOM. HANNAH BINDING SHOES. POOR lone Hannah, Sitting at the window, binding shoes, Faded, wrinkled, Sitting, stitching, in a mournful muse. Bright-eyed beauty once was she, When the bloom was on the tree: Spring and winter, Fair young Hannah, Hannah's at the window, binding Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gayly woos: shoes. Not a neighbor, Passing nod or answer will refuse, Hale and clever, For a willing heart and hand he sues. May-day skies are all aglow, And the waves are laughing so! 9 Never one has brought her any news. Still her dim eyes silently Chase the white sails o'er the sea: Hopeless, faithful, Hannah's at the window, binding Doubtless she had her romantic With a voice to quiet its hourly And a wife will follow by faith, not sight, In the chosen footprint, at any hap. In the comfort of home who is glad der than she? She reads the hereafter by the here: A beautiful Now, and a better To Be: In life is all sweetness, in death no fear, You waste your pity on such as she. HAND IN HAND WITH ANGELS. HAND in hand with angels, Through the world we go; Brighter eyes are on us Than we blind ones know; Tenderer voices cheer us Than we deaf will own; Never, walking heavenward, Can we walk alone. Hand in hand with angels, In the busy street, Heaven looks at us daily Out of human eyes. Hand in hand with angels; Toil-imbrowned and worn, Hand in hand with angels: Some are fallen,- alas! Over all they pass. Bid them seek the sky! When they cease to fly. Hand in hand with angels; Some are out of sight, Leading us, unknowing, Into paths of light. Some dear hands are loosened From our earthly clasp, Soul in soul to hold us With a firmer grasp. Hand in hand with angels,- Hand in hand with angels Throned beyond the sun. Hand in hand with angels! Strengthens more than one; A STRIP OF BLUE. I Do not own an inch of land, Richer am I than he who owns I freight them with my untold dreams, Out through the utmost gates of space, Past where the gay stars drift, Here sit I, as a little child: The threshold of God's door In height or depth, to me; Glad, when is opened to my need Only the anointed eye Sees in common things, Gleams dropped daily from the sky; Heavenly blossomings. To the hearts where light has birth Nothing can be drear; Washed from celestial basement walls Budding through the bloom of earth, By suns unsetting kissed. Heaven is always near. |