The Cornflower, and Other Poems

THE TREASURE BOX

I asked Aunt Persis yester-eve, as twilight fell,If she had things of value hidden safe away —Treasures that were her very own? And did she loveTo bring them forth, and feast her eyes upon their worth,And finger them with all a miser's greed of touch?She smiled that slow, warm smile of hers, and drew me downBeside her in the inglenook. The rain beat hardAgainst the panes, without the world was doubly grayWith twilight and with cloud. The room was full of shadeTill Persis stirred the slumbering grate fire wide awake,And made it send its flickering shafts of light intoEach corner dim – gay shafts that chased the shadows forthAnd took their place, then stole away and letThe shadow back, and then gave chase again,The maddest and the stillest game!To music ofThe raindrops on the pane, and wind that softly shrilledAbout the eaves, the treasure box was opened wideAnd its contents exposed to the rude gaze of oneToo young, too worldly-wise to know their value great.I thought to see pearls, corals, quaint, old-fashioned gems,Or lace like gossamer creamed by the hand of time —Real treasures worthy of the hoarding.Lo! I sawA leather-covered book, a worn and musty thingWith ragged leaves and many marks. "What is it?" I asked;"To me it looks the school-book that some stupid childHas learned its lesson from.""And so it is," she smiled. "My father's testament,And at his knee I conned the Golden Rule, and allThe wondrous truths that teach us how to live. 'Tis dearTo me, you may suppose."A knot of ribbon thatHad once been blue, a braid of dark brown hair, a sprayOf lily o' the valley, withered, sere, yet holding still a breathOf sweetness indescribable; some letters tiedWith silk, a broken fan, some verses scribbled onA yellow page, a baby's shoe, more letters, and,What think you, friend? A string of amber beads, withoutA trace of value – beads of glass strung on a bitOf twine. Aunt Persis took them in her hand and letThe firelight play on them. "My grandmother's first gift,"She said, and slipped them round her neck. "I love them bestOf all my ornaments – each amber bead holds fastA joy caught in the childhood days of pleasantness,And when I sit here with the sparkling things held closeThe joys they gathered long ago slip from them toMy heart, and ere I know, I am a child once more."Treasures! Nay, dear one, in your clear young eyes I seeThe disappointment grow – no treasures these, you say;These faded things, and poor, these musty, ragged things —But some day in the gloaming of your life you'll opeYour treasure box, and find a hoard of just such thingsAs these – a few rare trifles wrapped in memories.

THE MESSAGE

My Marjorie doth hold in her white handsA spray of lilies plucked below the brookWhere the old ruin of a chapel stands —A ruin tenanted by many a nook,And all the grayness of it hid from sightBy gracious draping of the ivy green.Sweet lilies, 'tis your glorious fate to-nightTo lie upon her breast, to send betweenHer silken bodice and the heart beneathThe fragrance given you by sun and shower.Speak subtly with your warm, sweet-scented breathTill, 'mid the dance and music of the hour,She turn you love-filled eyes and glowing face,With: "Ah, ye grew in that old trysting place!"

ESTRANGED

"It is good-bye," she said; "the world is wide,There's space for you and me to walk apart.Though we have walked together side by side,My thoughts all yours, my resting-place your heart,We now will go our different ways. ForgetThe happy past. I would not have you keepOne thought of me. Ah, yes, my eyes are wet;My love is great, my grief must needs be deep."Yet I have strength to look at you, and say:Forget it all, forget our souls were stirred,Forget the sweetness of each dear, dead day,The warm, impassioned kiss, the tender word,The clinging handclasp, and the love-filled eyes —Forget all these; but, when we walk apartRemember this, though wilful and unwise,No word of mine did ever hurt your heart."

THE PARTING

One summer's morning I heard a larkSinging to heaven, a sweet-throated bird;One winter's night I was glad in the darkBecause of the wondrous song I had heard.The joy of life, I have heard you say,Is my love, my laughter, my smiles and tears;When I have gone on the long, strange way,Let these stay with you through all the years —These be the lark's song. What is love worthThat cannot crowd, in the time that's givenTo two like us on this gray old earth,Such bliss as will last till we reach heaven?Dear one, think oft of the full, glad years,And, thinking of them, forget to weep.Whisper: "Remembrance holds no tears!"And kiss my mouth when I fall on sleep.

MARGARET

Her eyes – upon a summer's dayGod's skies are not more blue than they.Her hair – you've seen a sunbeam boldMade up of just such threads of gold.Her cheek – the leaf which nearest growsThe dewy heart of June's red rose.Her mouth – full lipped, and subtly sweetAs briar drowned in summer heat.Her heart – December's chill and snow —Heaven pity me, who love her so!

ST. VALENTINE

The girl's a slender thing and fair,With dimpled cheek and eyes ashine;The youth is tall, with bashful air.Heigho! a fond and foolish pair —The day is yours, St. Valentine.He says: "My heart will constant prove,Since every beat of it is thine;The sweetest joy of life is love."The birds are mating in the grove —The day is yours, St. Valentine.What matter that the wind blows chillThrough leafless tree and naked vine,That snowdrifts linger on the hill,When warm love makes the pulses thrill?The day is yours, St. Valentine.

TWO JUNE NIGHTS

A red rose in my lady's hair,A white rose in her fingers,A wild bird singing low, somewhere,A song that pulses, lingers.The sound of dancing and of mirth,The fiddle's merry chiming,A smell of earth, of fresh, warm earth,And honeysuckle climbing;My lady near, yet far away —Ah, lonely June of yesterday!A big white night of velvet sky,And Milky Way a-gleaming,The fragrant blue smoke drifting byFrom camp-fire brightly beaming;The stillness of the Northland far —God's solitudes of splendor —My road a trail, my chart a star.Wind, 'mong the balsams slender,Sing low: O glad June of to-day,My lady's near, though far away!

REMEMBRANCE

"Once they were lovers," says the world, "with young hearts all aglow;They have forgotten," says the world, "forgotten long ago."Between ourselves – just whisper it – the old world does not know.They walk their lone, divided ways, but ever with them goesRemembrance, the subtle breath of love's sweet thorny rose.

THE EMIGRANT LADDIE

Though long, long leagues of land and seaStretch out between Braemar and me,I'll win home late or soon,Will take the old familiar wayPast Isla Glen, up bold Glenshee,By sun-kissed hill and valley gray —These feet of mine will find their wayAt midnight or at noon.The hearth-fire, and the cot of stoneSet 'mong the fir trees tall and lone,I'll see before my eyes;Hear rough winds kiss the heath-clad hill,The murmur gay of loch and rill,The mavis singing sweet and shrill,Hear, warm and soft as notes that thrillThe souls in paradise.A voice all tremulous and gladCries out: "A welcome home, my lad!"

LOVE'S SERVICE

Your presence is a psalm of praise,And as its measure grandly ringsGod's finger finds my heart and playsA te deum upon its strings.I never see you but I feelThat I in gratitude must kneel.Your head down-bent, the brow of snowCrowned with the shining braids of hair,To me, because I love you so,Is in itself a tender prayer,All faith, all meekness, and all trust —"Amen!" I cry, because I must.Your clear eyes hold the text apart,And shame my love of place and pelfWith, "Love the Lord with all thine heart,And love thy neighbor as thyself!"Dear eyes and true, – I sorely needMore knowledge of your gracious creed.About your lips the summer lies —Who runs may read each subtle lureTo draw me nearer to the skies,And make me strong, and keep me pure.I loathe my worldliness and guileEach time your red lips on me smile.The benediction of your face —Your lifted face – doth make a roadFor white-robed peace and golden graceTo reach my heart and take its load.Dear woman saint, I bow the knee,And give God thanks for love and thee!

APRIL

God's garden is this dim old wood,And hidden in its bosomThe bursting bud, the feathery leafAnd soft, sweet smelling blossom.Ho! May is fair, and glorious June,In rose leaves doth enfold her;Their bloom is richer than my own,But mine is sweeter, bolder.God's garden is this dim old wood,And I, the pretty vagrant,I am the gardener He sendsTo make it fair and fragrant.

IN MEMORIAM

(A Tribute to Mrs. George A. Cox.)The Golden Rule – the blessed creedThat shelters frail humanity,The tender thought for those in need,The charity of word and deed,Without which all is vanity —This, friend, you made your very own,And yours the satisfying partTo pluck the rose of love full blown,To reap the gladness you had sownWith open hand and kindly heart.Simplicity, the jewel rare,Whose gleam is ever true and warm —That thing of worth beyond compareWhich none but truly great may wear —Adorned your life with power and charm.Yours the sincerity that gripsFast hold of natures strong and wise;It thrilled you to your finger-tips,It set its seal on brow and lips,And shone within your dark, true eyes.The throng knew not how rich the storeOf sympathy and trust you had;Knew not you were, till life was o'er,God's almoner among His poor,God's comforter to sick and sad.Too soon you went – we miss the cheer,The kindliness vouchsafed to all;The world seems strangely lone and drearWhen one whom many hearts hold dearFares heavenward ere the shadows fall.Too soon you went, and yet, maybe,Your work well done, your task complete,The soul of you turned longinglyToward gates of pearl and jasper seaAnd fields of Eden rarely sweet.