Louise Chandler Moulton
(1835-1908)
Quatrains
The Lost Room
Autumn Days
A Dead Poet
In a Library
The King Dethroned
Who Knows?
Day's Mockery
You
I studied Life
The Prodigal
Translations
Long Weeping
By Moonlight
Through the Darkness
The Mirror
La Vie
Additional Poems
To Julia Ward Howe
Why?
All in One
If once, just once
The Bold Ghost
Once More
One Day
"Beyond"
For Easter Morn
Life's Seasons
Quatrains
Sudden and swift, and like a passing wind.
MATTHEW ARNOLD.
The Lost Room
WHEN I came out of the fair House of YouthI heedlessly behind me closed the door--
Now every hour is bitter with the truth
That I can find that portal never more.
Autumn Days
AUTUMN days no solace bring--Harvest time is vain--
Come again, O joy of spring--
Come Youth's April pain.
A Dead Poet
SHE was the brightest thing beneath the sun--Joy had of her his will--
And, now her singing life is spent and done,
The world seems strange and chill.
In a Library
THE living ofttimes vex us--The wise old dead are best--
When Life's vain games perplex us
'T is here we turn for rest.
The King Dethroned
HE wore the purple a year and a day--His pride was high, and his will was strong:--
"Then why was his reign so brief?" you say--
He reigneth gently who reigneth long.
Who Knows?
THE Lily lifts to mine her nunlike face,
But my wild heart is beating for the Rose:
How can I pause to heed the Lily's grace?--
Shall I repent me by and by? Who knows?
Day's Mockery
I HEARD Love's voice thrill all the waiting Night,And I arose and followed where he led:
Then Morning mocked me with revealing light--
The great bright world was empty--Love was dead.
You
I SAW your face, and knew it was the Spring;Your eyes were bluer than the morning skies,
And when you smiled the birds began to sing,
Waiting no longer for the sun to rise.
I Studied Life
I STUDIED Life in Helen's look,And knew that Life was mine--
Now she is dead I close the book;
Death has no countersign.
The Prodigal
SAD penitent, beloved of God thou art,Thy wandering feet He welcomes home at night--
More dear than those who never did depart
Is the returning sinner, to His sight.
Translations
Turn over a new leaf.
DEKKER.
Long Weeping
(From the German of Heine)I HAVE in a dream been weeping;
Thou wert in thy grave, I dreamed.
I awoke from that bitter dreaming,
And still the hot tears streamed.
I have in a dream been weeping;
I dreamed thou wert gone from me.
I awoke, and awake kept weeping,
Long time and bitterly.
I have in a dream been weeping;
I dreamed that thou still wert kind.
I awoke, but I weep forever:
My tears have made me blind.
BY Moonlight
(From Heine)LIKE dark dreams stand the houses,
Stretched out in lengthened row;
And shrouded close in my mantle
I silently by them go.
The bell of the Cathedral
Chimes midnight from above;
I know, with charms and kisses,
Now waits for me my Love.
The moon is my companion,
Who kindly leadeth me;
At last I reach her dwelling,
And cry out joyfully:
"Old Confidante, I thank thee
That thou hast lit my way!
Shine on, now that I leave thee,
And lend the rest thy ray!
"And should'st thou find a lover,
Who lonely makes his moan,
Give him the same dear comfort
That I, of old, have known."
Through the Darkness
(From Heine.)WE travelled alone in the darkness,
Posted the whole night through;
On each other's hearts we rested;
We laughed and jested, too.
But with the dawn of the morning,
My Child, how astonished were we;
For between us Love was sitting,
A passenger blind was he.
The Mirror
(From the Provençal of Théodore Aubanel)OH, long ago she dwelt
In this gay little room--
How shall I find my flower
Here where she used to bloom?
O longing, thirsting eyes,
Pursue the dear surprise:
Mirror, thou know'st her well--
Work thou some magic spell
And bring her back!
Here, when the morn was bright,
She bathed her lovely face,
Her little hands she bathed,
And clad herself with grace.
Between lips glad with song
Her teeth shone, white and strong:
Mirror, thou know'st her well--
Work thou some magic spell
To bring her back!
So innocent, so blithe,
Yet starting at a sound,
She let her long hair's veil
Fall her white shoulders round.
Then from her grandsire's book
Her morning prayer she took:
Mirror, thou know'st her well--
Work thou some magic spell
And bring her back!
Ah, there the book leans now,
Against the sacred palm--
Open, as when she prayed,
Or read some holy psalm!
Surely I hear her feet--
The wind with them is fleet:
Mirror, thou know'st her well--
Hast thou no magic spell
To bring her back?
At high mass or at fête
How fair she was to see!
And I, who should have prayed,--
O Lord, forgive thou me!--
Watched her, as there she knelt;
For prayer her name I spelt:
Mirror, thou know'st her well--
Work me some magic spell
And bring her back!
Here leaned she forth to talk;
Here of her tasks she thought;
For God's love and God's poor
Such patient stitches wrought;
Her swift hands to and fro
Before thee used to go:
Mirror, thou know'st her well,
Yet hast no magic spell
To bring her back!
Glad days of foolish chat,
Dear days of love and rhyme,
Season of mirth and dance,
Love's long-lost, golden time,
Bright hair where sunshine lay
The priest's hands sheared away:
Mirror, thou know'st her well--
Hast thou, indeed, no spell
To bring her back?
But thou dost rule, O God!
Thy harvest springs from pain;
And fairest blooms are fed
On tears that fall like rain.
O Gatherer divine,
The sweetest flowers are thine!
Mirror, thou know'st her well--
Why hast thou not some spell
To bring her back?
The day she went away
Her cheeks were bathed in tears;
The long night she had wept
Past joys and future fears;
But when the convent's door
Had closed, she wept no more:
Mirror, thou know'st her well--
I seek thy magic spell
To bring her back.
Under the half-dead vine
To this porch I drew nigh:
"This House to Let," I read--
It hurt me like a cry.
No one awaits me here;
But still my heart draws near:
Mirror, thou know'st her well--
Yet thou canst work no spell
To bring her back.
La Vie
(From the French of Montenaeken)AH, brief is Life,
Love's short, sweet way,
With dreamings rife,
And then--Good-day!
And Life is vain--
Hope's vague delight,
Grief's transient pain,
And then--Good-night!
Additional Poems
To Julia Ward Howe
On her Eighty-seventh Birthday, May 27, 1907.
YOUTH is thy gift--the youth that baffles Time,
And smiles derisively at vanished years.
Since the long past the present more endears,
And life but ripens in its golden prime,
Who knows to what proud heights thou still may'st climb--
What summoning call thy listening spirit hears--
What triumphs wait, ere conquering death appears--
What magic beauty thou may'st lend to rhyme?
Sovereign of Love and May, we kiss the hand
Such noble work has wrought, and add our bays
To those with which the world has crowned thy brow:
Thy subjects we, in this the happy land,
Thy presence gladdens, and thy gracious ways
Enchant--Queen of the Long-Ago and Now.
Why?
THE New Year comes with her radiant face,Clad in white, like a waiting bride--
But she brings no word through the empty space,
No message has reached me since you died.
Was Death Life's ending, or did you go
To a realm so vast, and a task so high,
That you have forgotten this world below,
Where Life is a Dream, and the Dreamers die?
Shall I know, some day, when a cold, still hand
Leads me, in my turn, from this transient sphere,
And guides me on to that Unseen Land,
Why you were taken, and I left here?
All in One
THE pomp of Day and Night--The sunset and the sun--
Thou, my own Heart's Delight,
Art Day and Night in one.
If Once, Just Once
WHY do I never see you in my dreams?The lips are cold that you no longer kiss;
And missing you, the Universe I miss.
The far stars lure me with evasive gleams,
But no new Joy the dead Past's pledge redeems.
Though you have found a larger world than this,
Can you not spare one hour from that wide bliss?
Why do I never see you in my dreams?
One little touch, and I should know you near,--
One whispered word would wake my soul from sleep,
And all I thought was dead, alive would be,
Saved from the blank forgetfulness I fear,--
Immortal then your image I could keep,
If once, just once, you would come back to me.
The Bold Ghost
THE year was young, but the place was old,And the house had gone to sleep,
And the ghost that came by night was bold,
For the silence was so deep.
Aloud he called to his heart's fair queen,
But she would not unbar the door,
And the window from which she used to lean
Stirred at her touch no more.
In vain through the empty night he cried,
But there came no answering tone;
And then he bethought him that since he died
A hundred years had flown.
But a hundred years should have brought more near
The Love that he loved so well;
And the bold ghost's heart turned cold with fear--
Where was the old-time spell?
Had she forgotten what he held fast?--
They say 't is a woman's way;
Was it only a dream that Love could last,
The dream of an idle day?
From the silent house the bold ghost turned--
Why dream that a dream is true?--
Ashes were where Love's fire once burned;
Death's meaning at last he knew.
Once More
ONCE more the Morning mocks me with its scorn,The Sun derides me with its radiant face,
Since you vouchsafe no word from your far place,
And, lacking you, there is no joy of morn.
Did you but speak, my heart would be new-born,
And I--alive again, through that dear grace
Of love, that scoffs at time and conquers space--
Could laugh at those who call my fate forlorn.
Why are you silent? Does your heart forget,
In the proud affluence of joys untold,
Old ways, old words that I remember yet
And treasure, as a miser counts his gold?
Is it that your far ear I cannot reach--
Or am I, earth-enslaved, deaf to Heaven's speech?
One Day
HOW glad we were of the morn,When the royal Sun climbed high,
And the winds went wild with glee,
And the birds flew singing by--
Till the swift, bright hours were spent,
And the scornful stars looked down,
For Night is stronger than Day--
And hearts turn cold at its frown.
Ah well, it is so with Life--
We hope, we despair, we die--
We joy in the transient strife--
Then low in the dust we lie--
And over us blossoms creep--
And the moon and the stars look down--
What matter when we are asleep?
We heed neither smile, nor frown.
"Beyond"
HOW many times has shone the morning sun
On this so lonesome world bereft of thee--
And still I wonder, with each day begun,
Can any sun shine from its sky for me?
Dost thou watch some far dawn, and wish good cheer
To glad new friends who meet thee on thy way,
Or, by the past compelled, dost thou draw near
And whisper old words on this new-born day?
I cannot see thee, for my eyes are blind--
My ears are deaf to unaccustomed speech;
Vainly I grope an outstretched hand to find--
Why didst thou go so far beyond my reach?
For Easter Morn
HOW gladly dawns the Easter sun!
The wide world thrills with prayer and praise.
Gone by are all Lent's mournful days,
And Hope and Joy seem just began.
The laughing streams to seaward run--
Wild flowers bedeck the woodland ways,
And homing birds sing merry lays
Of triumph over winter done.
Shall we not joy? We, too, have won,
Through winter's hostile ice-bound days,
To this new dawn that all things praise;
Let us be glad--aye, every one--
When gladly dawns the Easter sun.
Life's Seasons
THE seasons come, and the seasons go--
Winter begins them, white with snow;
Then Spring steals on, with her wayward grace,
And the glad world smiles to see her face,
Till Summer, her rival, warms the day,
And the year's proud Queen holds regal sway--
But Autumn follows, and roses die,
And birds fly Southward, and sad winds sigh.
So is our life, with its changeful days--
Shadow and sunlight, and blame and praise--
Its seasons come, and its seasons go--
But God is Our Father--'t is all we know.