Alice Cary

Rowan Ramsey

Rowan Ramsey, she is plain---
   Plain as you would plainness call;
Just her girlish golden hair
Round her brow and bosom fair,
   For adornment, that is all! 

Rowan Ramsey, she is vain
   Of her girlish golden hair,
And her feet, if she but stir,
Dance about in spite of her,
   Just to show how small they are! 

Rowan Ramsey, she is neat---
   Stocking, petticoat of snow,
And her hair, like veil of lace,
Slippeth fitly to the place
   Of her sleeve, so loose and low. 

Rowan Ramsey, she is sweet;
   Nature's child, as you will see;
Never any bramble-bud,
Born a mile deep in the wood,
   Grew to blossom pure as she. 

Rowan Ramsey's smiles do flow
   O'er her chaste, religious frown;
And no little saintly nun,
At her 'broidery in the sun,
   Droppeth eyelid lowlier down. 

Rowan Ramsey, she is low,
   High in goodness is her part;
When we stand up to be wed,
You shall see her golden head
   Shining level with my heart. 

Rowan Ramsey, she is small---
   Never smaller maid appeared
Outside of a fairy bower;
I could hide her like a flower,
   Underneath my grisly beard. 

Rowan Ramsey, she is all
   Just as I would have her be;
Golden hair, and gown so simple,
Brow and bosom, smile and dimple,
   Sweet as ever sweet can be!

The old man who would a-wooing go

Mistress lady-lark, mistress lady-lark,
   Fly up, fly out of the furrow!
And strip your two round shoulders stark,
   For I your wings would borrow.
Ere the east has got a rosy mark,
   I must bid my love good-morrow. 

Mistress violet, mistress violet,
   I want your tender and true eyes!
For mine are as cold and as black as jet,
   And I want your heavenly blue eyes!
Modest violet, maiden violet,
   Pray, can I borrow your blue eyes? 

Mistress nightingale, mistress nightingale,
   I want to borrow your fair tongue,
For I have to sing a sweeter tale
   Than ever you in the air sung;
Melodious mistress nightingale,
   Be still, and lend me your fair tongue! 

Master redbreast, robin redbreast,
   Whose note has so oft my day cheered,
You wear the color my love loves best---
   Will you lend it to a graybeard?
Oh, stay, my little man, stay in your nest,
   And make me brave for a graybeard! 

Master golden-bill, master golden-bill,
   Come speak, and tell me whether
You will lend, to make me a quill,
   A hollow silver feather?
A letter with love I have to fill---
   Say, shall we write together?

The Lover's May-song

As after the winter
   So wild and so dread,
One waits by the lily
   Fast froze in the bed
Of the garden, for some
   Little leaf to appear,
   So I wait, by my dear. 

Now soft airs are thawing
   The icicles down
From the eaves, and the swallows
   So bright and so brown,
Ere long in their places
   Will twitter and sing,
   Bill to bill---wing to wing. 

The low-cornel up through
   The dead leaves will shoot,
And turn her whole heart
   Into scarlet-hued fruit,
As the sun her white bosom
   Makes quick with a kiss---
   Think, my darling, of this! 

And think of the dear little
   Rose-colored things,
That will lie all atremble
   Like butterfly wings,
Because of their joy in
   The beds of the moss,
   And, my love, be not cross. 

And think of the May-star,
   That wears, like a queen,
Her pearls in a setting
   Of emerald green---
How she gathers her tenderness
   Out of the snow,
   And you cannot say no. 

And think of the cool-wort,
   So timid and sweet,
How she cometh almost
   In the face of the sleet,
The grace of her healing
   On sick hearts to press,
   And you needs must say yes.

Love's Spurning

Come row in my painted boat, Jane,
   There 's something I would say---
'T is all about your marrying me,
   And having your own way. 

The beanfields wrong your little hands,
   Your feet are cold in the dew,
But if you will keep the ring of gold
   That I have brought for you; 

No time of merriment shall fall
   But that you shall be there---
Your shoulders wrapt in a shawl of lace,
   And an ivory comb in your hair. 

Row on in your painted boat, and leave
   My beanfields in disgrace---
My sweetheart's arm around my neck
   Is better than all your lace! 

No ivory comb want I, nor ring,
   Nor painted boat, so brave,
And the way that pleases him is all
   The way that I care to have.

Once for all

'T was in the bright morning of life and of love,
And earth in her springtime was smiling and gay,
   I walked with my lady
   A lane green and shady,
And all overblown with the rose-leaves of May,---
   With pale and with bright leaves,
   With red and with white leaves,---
O'erblown and o'erstrown with the roses of May. 

The sun up the east rode serenely and slow,
And swung back the silver-barred gates of the day;
   'T was all so ideal
   That nothing seemed real,
And which was the substance we hardly could say,
   Ourselves, or our shadows,
   As down the green meadows
We walked, through the leaves of the roses of May! 

All sounds were so sweet, so celestially sweet,
We scarce could dissever the grave from the gay.
   O blending confusions,
   O darling illusions,
That filled up our hearts to o'erflowing that day!
   Not we, but our shadows,
   Along the green meadows,
Seemed brushing the dew from the daisies away. 

Like butterfly wings caught with butterfly wings,
My fancies in speech fluttered this and that way,
   As, deep among mazes
   Of golden-eyed daisies,
I said, "Will you love me a little to-day?
   'T is only a minute
   Can have heaven in it;
Lady and lady-love, what do you say?" 

Her spirit stood calm, poised like butterfly wings,
And her eyes stabbed me through with a still, steady ray,
   As turning serenely,
   And standing so queenly,
She said, "Love a little? and just for a day!
   Why, sir, the rough bramble
   With scorn stands a-tremble,
And blushes up scarlet to hear what you say!" 

Then, soft as the melting of frost into mist,
Her taunt to a tender reproach fell away;
   "Is love an adorning,
   To pluck of a morning,"
She said, "and to wear like a rose of the May?
   Love lost is loved never---
   Loved once is loved ever---
The joy of eternity, not of a day!" 

'T was all in the heyday of life, long ago,
And the gold and the black hair are both growing gray,
   And through the rough weather
   We walk on together,
For the wife of the years is my lady of May;
   And still she says, ever,
   "Loved once is loved never,"
And I answer, "Eternity---that is love's day!"

True Love

There is true love, and yet you may
   Have lingering doubts about it;
I'll tell the truth, and simply say
   That life 's a blank without it.
There is a love both true and strong,
   A love that falters never;
It lives on faith, and suffers wrong,
   But lives and loves forever.
Such love is found but once on earth---
   The heart cannot repel it;
From whence it comes, or why its birth,
   The tongue may never tell it.
This love is mine, in spite of all,
   This love I fondly cherish;
The earth may sink, the skies may fall,
   This love will never perish.
It is a love that cannot die,
   But, like the soul, immortal,
And with it cleaves the starry sky
   And passes through the portal.
This is the love that comes to stay---
   All other loves are fleeting;
And when they come, just turn away---
   It is but Cupid cheating.

Proposal

Since you have made my heart so large and grand,
   And filled it with love's furniture complete,
Will you not deign to climb up by my hand,
   And live in it forever, Mona, sweet? 

O, come, and hold me with your arms so pale!
   O, come, and fold me with your love so true!
The hall, the garden,---all the Cedar Dale
   Is yours, and henceforth only mine through you. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Will you come and be my love, Mona!
   My sweetheart, good and true?
I 've nothing in the great wide world
   To live for,---only you. 

You shall be safe from ill, Mona!
   As never wife has been;
The morning-glory by the door
   Shall hardly dare look in; 

And when my merry harvesters
   The sheaves together bind,
They all shall bring to you, Mona,
   The fairest flowers they find.

Low, sweet and low

Low, sweet and low,
   Sing to the shore, O Sea!
And softly, softly, west wind, blow
   My lover's love to me;
Blow and fill my heart with bliss
   As full as it can be. 

Light, low and light,
   Let your whisper, west wind, be,
And tell me whether he sleeps to-night
   By the window nearest me!
For if he loves me as I love him,
   'T is there his bed will be. 

Creep, west wind, creep
   Under the sheets, and see
Whether or not his arms in sleep
   Are reaching out for me!
For if the love of my love is mine,
   'T is thus his arms will be. 

About his pillow flit,
   And see if you will see
A name in love's red letters writ
   On his cheek, then fly to me,
For I know if a name is written there,
   Whose name the name must be!

Forgive me, but I needs must press

Forgive me, but I needs must press
   One question, since I love you so;
And kiss me, darling, if it 's Yes,
   And, darling, kiss me if it 's No! 

It is about our marriage day,---
   I fain would have it even here;
But kiss me if it 's far away,
   And, darling, kiss me if it 's near! 

Ah, by the blushes crowding so
   On cheek and brow, 't is near, I guess;
But, darling, kiss me if it 's No,
   And kiss me, darling, if it 's Yes! 

And with what flowers shall you be wed?
   With flowers of snow? or flowers of flame?
But be they white, or be they red,
   Kiss me, my darling, all the same! 

And have you sewed your wedding dress?
   Nay, speak not, even to whisper low;
But kiss me, darling, if it 's Yes,
   And, darling, kiss me if it 's No!

Say, do you love me as in the olden

Say, do you love me as in the olden
   Time so far away,
When the light o' my hair was golden
   As the light o' the May?
      Charley, my man of men,
      Do you love me now, as when
Earth, to meet the heaven above it,
   Seemed with the mist to rise,
And we told each other of it,
   Talking with our eyes? 

All the horns of the winds a-blowing
   Made the warm wood sweet,
And the flowers to see our wooing
   Hid in the grass at our feet,
      When by the brook, so clear,
      We sat,---do you mind, my dear?---
How the deep-worn path of the cattle
   Lay across its trace,
And with tags of berry and nettle
   Made a star in its face? 

How the vale, to our troth agreeing,
   Shone with light new-won,
Like a cloud that is flushed with being
   Confidant of the Sun.
      Charley, my man of men,
      Do you love me now as then?
Winter cometh, so sadly whirling
   All my bloom away,
And the light o' my hair is not, my darling,
   Like the light o' the May. 

To One who sang of love

Thou hast sung of love's confession
   Out beneath the starry skies,
Of the rapture of the moment
   When the soul is breathed in sighs,
And the maiden's trembling transport
   As she blushingly replies
To the worship of a lover,
   Breathed from speaking lips and eyes.

By the earnest tender pathos
   Of thy every witching line,
Such an hour of bliss ecstatic
   Has surely once been thine:
And I would that Heaven might answer
   This earnest wish of mine,
That thy star of love and beauty
   May wane not, nor decline.

Listening to the first confession,
   Lingering o'er the first fond kiss,---
What an age of bliss is crowded
   In an hour of life like this!
Surely thine at such a moment
   Has been perfect happiness,
And the maiden, the fond maiden,
   O, I cannot guess her bliss!

Sometimes to my heart in slumber
   Thought so like the truth will steal,
That the pressure of sweet kisses
   On my brow I almost feel;
And I dream fond lips have uttered
   What they might no more conceal;
But I cannot, no, I cannot,
   Make such blessed visions real.

Archie

O to be back in the beautiful shadow
Of that old maple-tree down in the meadow,
Watching the smiles that grew dearer and dearer,
Listening to lips that drew nearer and nearer!
O to be back in the crimson-topped clover,
Sitting again with my Archie, my lover!

O for the time when I felt his caresses
Smoothing away from my forehead the tresses,
When up from my heart to my cheek went the blushes,
As he said that my voice was as sweet as the thrush's,---
When he said that my eyes were bewitchingly jetty,
And I told him 't was only my love made them pretty.

Talk not of maiden reserve and of duty,
Or hide from my vision such wonderful beauty;
Pulses above may beat calmly and even,---
We have been fashioned for earth, and not heaven;
Angels are perfect,---I am but a woman;
Saints may be passionless,---Archie is human.

Talk not of heavenly, down-dropping blisses,---
Can they fall on the brow like the rain of soft kisses?
Preach not the promise of priests and evangels,---
Love-crowned, I ask not the crown of the angels;
All that the wall of pure jasper incloses
Makes not less lovely the white bridal roses.

Tell me that when all this life shall be over,
I shall still love him, and he be my lover,---
That in meadows far sweeter than clover or heather
My Archie and I shall sit always together,
Loving eternally, wed ne'er to sever,---
Then you may tell me of heaven forever!