The Poems of Henry Van Dyke eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 381 pages of information about The Poems of Henry Van Dyke.




  Well, you will triumph, dear and noble friend! 
    The holy love that wounded you so deep
    Will bring you balm, and on your heart asleep
  The fragrant dew of healing will descend. 
    Your children,—­ah, how quickly they will grow
    Between us, like a wall that fronts the sun,
    Lifting a screen with rosy buds o’errun,
  To hide the shaded path where I must go.

  You’ll walk in light; and dreaming less and less
    Of him who droops in gloom beyond the wall,
  Your mother-soul will fill with happiness
    When first you hear your grandchild’s babbling call,
  Beneath the braided bloom of flower and leaf
  That We has wrought to veil your vanished grief.


  Then I alone shall suffer!  I shall bear
    The double burden of our grief alone,
  While I enlarge my soul to take your share
    Of pain and hold it close beside my own. 
  Our love is torn asunder; but the crown
    Of thorns that love has woven I will make
  My relic sacrosanct, and press it down
    Upon my bleeding heart that will not break.

  Ah, that will be the depth of solitude! 
    For my regret, that evermore endures,
    Will know that new-born hope has conquered yours;
  And when the evening comes, no gentle brood
  Of wondering children, gathered at my side,
  Will soothe away the tears I cannot hide.

Freely rendered from the French, 1911.


  Come home, my love, come home! 
    The twilight is falling,
    The whippoorwill calling,
    The night is very near,
    And the darkness full of fear,
  Come home to my arms, come home!

  Come home, my love, come home! 
    In folly we parted,
    And now, lonely hearted,
    I know you look in vain
    For a love like mine again;
  Come home to my arms, come home!

  Come home, dear love, come home! 
    I’ve much to forgive you,
    And more yet to give you. 
    I’ll put a little light
    In the window every night,—­
  Come home to my arms, come home.


  The river of dreams runs quietly down
      From its hidden home in the forest of sleep,
      With a measureless motion calm and deep;
  And my boat slips out on the current brown,
      In a tranquil bay where the trees incline
      Far over the waves, and creepers twine
      Far over the boughs, as if to steep
      Their drowsy bloom in the tide that goes
      By a secret way that no man knows,
  Under the branches bending,
  Under the shadows blending,
      And the body rests, and the passive soul
      Is drifted along to an unseen goal,
  While the river of dreams runs down.

Project Gutenberg
The Poems of Henry Van Dyke from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.