JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 1819. 1841. My Love, I have no fear that thou shouldst die; Whose numbering-clock is still thy gentle kiss, We live and love, well knowing that there is To find, some morn, that thou hadst gone before; I cannot think that thou shouldst pass away, A piece of nature that can have no flaw, And more divine in my humanity, As knowing that the waiting eyes which scan And ask meek, calm-browed deeds, with it agreeing. IN ABSENCE. These rugged, wintry days I scarce could bear, Did I not know, that, in the early spring, Like those same winds, when, startled from their lair, Bid my heart bloom, and sing, and break all care: I thought our love at full, but I did err; ROBERT BROWNING. 1812 -Bella and Pomegranata." 1845.7 THE LOST MISTRESS. ALL's over, then: does truth sound bitter As one at first believes ! Hark! t is the sparrow's good-night twitter And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly, I noticed that to-day; One day more bursts them open fully, To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest? Mere friends are we; well, friends the merest For each glance of that eye so bright and black, Yet I will but say what mere friends say, I will hold your hand but as long as all may, Or so very little longer! ["Men and Women." 1856.] EVELYN HOPE. Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed; She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, Beginning to die, too, in the glass. Little has yet been changed, I think: The shutters are shut, no light may pass, Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. Sixteen years old when she died! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; It was not her time to love: beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares; And now was quiet, now astir; Till God's hand beckoned unawares, And the sweet white brow is all of her. Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope? What! your soul was pure and true; The good stars met in your horoscope, Made you of spirit, fire and dew; And just because I was thrice as old, And our paths in the world diverged so wide, Each was naught to each, must I be told? No, indeed! for God above Is great to grant, as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love; Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few; Ere the time be come for taking you. But the time will come, at last it will, When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, In the lower earth, in the years long still, That body and soul so pure and gay? Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, And your mouth of your own geranium's red, And what you would do with me, in fine, In the new life come in the old one's stead. I have lived, I shall say, so much since then, Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; I loved you, Evelyn, all the while; My heart seemed full as it could hold; There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, And the red young mouth and the hair's young gold. So, hush, I will give you this leaf to keep, See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand. There, that is our secret! go to sleep; You will wake, and remember, and understand. |