romantic poems

A ROMANCE OF TRAVEL.

Bertha — Writing from Venice .

I .

On your heart I feign myself fallen — ah, heavier burden,
Darling, of sorrow and pain than ever shall rest there! I take you
Into these friendless arms of mine, that you cannot escape me;
Closer and closer I fold you, and tell you all, and you listen
Just as you used at home, and you let my sobs and my silence
Speak, when the words will not come — and you understand and forgive me.

A woman launts her lover:

Look at the little darlings in the corn!
The rye is taller than you, who think yourself
So high and mighty: look how its heads are borne
Dark and proud on the sky, like a number of knights
Passing with spears and pennants and manly scorn.

And always likely! Oh, if I could ride
With my head held high-serene against the sky,
Do you think I'd have a creature like you at my side
With your gloom and your doubt that you love me?
O darling rye,

My grief and my paint a mortal disease is love,
Woe, woe unto him who must prove it a month or even a day,
It hath broken my heart, and my bosom is burdened with sighs,
From dreaming of her gentle sleep hath forsaken mine eyes.

I met with the fairy host at the liss beside Ballyfinnane;
I asked them had they a herb for the curing of love's cruel pain.
They answered me softly and mildly, with many a pitying tone,
" When this torment comes into the heart it never goes out again. "

WITH THANKS TO G. K. CHESTERTON

Their hearts are bowed with sorrow,
They love to wail and croon;
They shed big tears when they sigh, " Machree, "
Floods when they sob, " Aroon! "

For the Young Gaels of Ireland
Are the lads that drive me mad;
For half their words need foot-notes,
And half their rhymes are bad.

TUCSON

Aloof as aged kings,
Wearing like them the purple,
The mountains ring the mesa
Crowned with a dusky light;
Many a time I watched
That coming-on of darkness
Till stars burned through the heavens
Intolerably bright.

It was not long I lived there
But I became a woman
Under those vehement stars,
For it was there I heard
For the first time my spirit
Forging an iron rule for me,
As though with slow cold hammers
Beating out word by word:

Stand firm, gray Rock!
Tough-weathered Beams, hold fast!
Stanch Walls, proud Roof,
Repel the warring Blast!
Glow warm, deep Hearth,
Against the Winter's Chill;
Clear Flame of Love,
Burn brighter, warmer still!

Commute with me, Love, and be merry;
How vain in the City to dwell
When apple-trees blow in Dobbs' Ferry
And lilacs adorn New Rochelle!
White Plains is the Garden of Allah
And Pelham's the Pearl of the Sea;
There's bliss in the name of Valhalla —
Oh, fly to the Suburbs with me!

Then won't you commute on my family ticket?
To Westchester County we'll flee.
Delightful Westchester,

My loved one is far away.
Alone, by the railing, I look around aimlessly
Many times, depressed by a bright, full moon,
My body aches and twists with ninefold grief and pain.
A heart left hanging.
A deep love that cannot be severed.
Just how can we be reunited and share companionship again?
Spare me from sleeping with only a cold quilt and pillow.

Pan loved his neighbor Echo; Echo loved
A gamesome Satyr; he, by her unmoved,
Loved only Lyde; thus through Echo, Pan,
Lyde, and Satyr, Love his circle ran.
Thus all, while their true lovers' hearts they grieved,
Were scorned in turn, and what they gave received.
O all Love's scorners, learn this lesson true;
Be kind to Love, that he be kind to you.

My breast is press'd to thine, Alice,
My arm is round thee twined;
Thy breath dwells on my lip, Alice,
Like clover-scented wind:
Love glisten's in thy sunny e'e,
And blushes on thy brow;
Earth's heaven is here to thee and me,
For we are happy now!

Thy cheek is warm and saft, Alice,
As the summer laverock's breast;
And peace sleeps in thy soul, Alice,
Like the laverock on its nest!
Sweet lay thy heart aboon my heart,
Fot it is a' thine ain;
That morning love it gi'es to thee,