Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume II. eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 386 pages of information about Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume II..


I’m going down the garden, mother.’  ‘Laura!’ ‘I’ve dried my tears.’ 
‘O how will this end!’ ‘I know not the end, I can but begin.’ 
‘But what will you say?’ ’Not “welcome, father,” though long were those
But I’ll say to him, “O my poor father, we wait you, come in.”



‘And you brought him home.’  ‘I did, ay Ronald, it rested with me.’ 
‘Love!’ ‘Yes.’  ‘I would fain you were not so calm.’  ‘I cannot weep.  No.’ 
‘What is he like, your poor father?’ ’He is—­like—­this fallen tree
Prone at our feet, by the still lake taking on rose from the glow,


Now scarlet, O look! overcoming the blue both lake and sky,
While the waterfalls waver like smoke, then leap in and are not. 
And shining snow-points of high sierras cast down, there they lie.’ 
‘O Laura—­I cannot bear it.  Laura! as if I forgot.’


’No, you remember, and I remember that evening—­like this
When we come forth from the gloomy Canyon, lo, a sinking sun. 
And, Ronald, you gave to me your troth ring, I gave my troth kiss.’ 
’Give me another, I say that this makes no difference, none.


It hurts me keenly.  It hurts to the soul that you thought it could.’ 
‘I never thought so, my Ronald, my love, never thought you base.’ 
No, but I look for a nobler nobleness, loss understood,
Accepted, and not that common truth which can hold through disgrace.


O! we remember, and how ere that noon through deeps of the lake
We floating looked down and the boat’s shadow followed on rocks below,
So clear the water.  O all pathetic as if for love’s sake
Our life that is but a fleeting shadow ’t would under us show.


O we remember forget-me-not pale, and white columbine
You wreathed for my hair; because we remember this cannot be. 
Ah! here is your ring—­see, I draw it off—­it must not be mine,
Put it on, love, if but for the moment and listen to me.


I look for the best, I look for the most, I look for the all
From you, it consoles this misery of mine, there is you to trust. 
O if you can weep, let us weep together, tears may well fall
For that lost sunsetting and what it promised,—­they may, they must.


Do you say nothing, mine own beloved, you know what I mean, And whom.—­To her pride and her love from YOU shall such blow be dealt... ...Silence uprisen, is like a presence, it comes us between...  As once there was darkness, now is there silence that may be felt.

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Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume II. from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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