Mayhap, your heart in maiden peace is like a closed
Wrapped in pure folds of saintly thought, its tender freshness
Yet like a dream that comes in sleep, your soul sweet quiet
Is a thought of me, my darling, that shall come true on waking.
Perchance you turn from passionate vows, words wild
love’s sweet madness,
With soft eyes looking far sway, in yearning trust and sadness;
A look that tells his alien soul how widely you are parted,
Though he knows not whom your rapt eyes seek, my sweet,
Oh, the world is rough; the heart against its sneers,
Locks all its better feelings, making it a gloomy prison;
But your hand, my angel, shall unlock its rocky, dust-strewn
Your smile shall rouse its dying dreams of good to life immortal.
You will make me better, purer, for love, the true
Burning out the baser passions, will kindle the diviner,
Will plead and wind my spirit, not to shame its heavenly station,
You will trust me, and that trust will prove my tempted soul’s
God keep you tenderly, my life’s dear hope and
Oh, night wind, touch her tresses till I come with fond caressing,
Thy crown of pearl-linked light, oh, royal moon stoop down
and give her,
Till queen of love’s own kingdom, I crown her mine forever.
Oh! the day was dark and dreary,
For clouds swept o’er the sun,
The burden of life seemed heavy,
And its warfare never done;
But I heard a voice at twilight,
It whispered in my ear,
“Oh, doubting heart, look upward,
Dear soul, be of good cheer.
Oh, weary heart, look upward,
Dear soul, be of good cheer.”
And lo! on looking upward
The stars lit up the sky
Like the lights of an endless city,
A city set on high.
And my heart forgot its sorrow
These heavenly homes to see—
Sure in those many mansions
Is room for even me,
Sure in those many mansions,
Is room for thee and me.
Here in the silent doorway let me linger
One moment, for the porch is still and lonely;
That shadow’s but the rose vine in the moonlight;
All are asleep in peace, I waken only,
And he I wait, by my own heart’s beating
I know how slow to him the tide creeps by,
Nor life, nor death, could bar our hearts from meeting;
Were worlds between, his soul to mine would fly.
Oh, shame! to think a heap of paltry metal
Should overbalance manhood’s noblest graces;
A film of gold had gilt his worth and honor,
Warming to smiles the coldness of their faces;
Gentle to me, they rise in condemnation,
And plead with me than words more powerfully.
Oh! well I love them—but they have wealth and station
To fill their hearts, and he has only me.