SUNKEN GOLD IN dim green depths rot ingot-laden ships; And gold doubloons, that from the drowned hand fell, Lie nestled in the ocean-flower's bell With love's old gifts, once kissed by longdrowned lips; And round some wrought gold cup the seagrass whips, And hides lost pearls, near pearls still in their shell, Where sea-weed forests fill each ocean dell And seek dim sunlight with their restless tips. So lie the wasted gifts, the long-lost hopes Beneath the now hushed surface of myself, In lonelier depths than where the diver Proclaims its stormy parents; and we hear The faint far murmur of the breaking flood. We hear the sea. The sea? It is the blood In our own veins, impetuous and near, And with our feelings' every shifting mood. crave A world unreal as the shell-heard sea. A FLIGHT FROM GLORY ONCE, from the parapet of gems and glow, An Angel said, "O God, the heart grows cold On these eternal battlements of gold, Where all is pure, but cold as virgin snow. WHAT THE SONNET IS FOURTEEN small broidered berries on the hem Of Circe's mantle, each of magic gold; Fourteen of lone Calypso's tears that rolled Into the sea, for pearls to come of them; Fourteen clear signs of omen in the gem With which Medea human fate foretold; Fourteen small drops, which Faustus, growing old, Craved of the Fiend, to water Life's dry stem. It is the pure white diamond Dante brought To Beatrice; the sapphire Laura wore When Petrarch cut it sparkling out of thought; The ruby Shakespeare hewed from his heart's core; The dark, deep emerald that Rossetti wrought For his own soul, to wear for evermore. ON HIS "SONNETS OF THE WINGLESS HOURS" I WROUGHT them like a targe of hammered gold On which all Troy is battling round and round; Or Circe's cup, embossed with snakes that wound Through buds and myrtles, fold on scaly fold; With toys and painted fruit. A blade of grass in a rocky cleft; Why should I sorrow if all be lost, To-day she may be speeding on bright If only a single bluebell gleams Bright on the barren heath, Still of that flower the Summer dreams, Not of his August wreath. – Why should I sorrow if thou art mine, Love, beyond change and death? If only once on a wintry day The sun shines forth in the blue, He gladdens the groves till they laugh as in May And dream of the touch of the dew. - Why should I sorrow if all be false, If only thou art true? THE OLD MAID SHE gave her life to love. She never knew What other women give their all to gain. Others were fickle. She was passing true. She gave pure love, and faith without a stain. PROUD and lowly, beggar and lord, Hurry along, sorrow and song, Dainty, painted, powdered and gay, Flowers and dreams from country mea dows, Dust and din through city skies, Old men creeping with their shadows, All is vanity 'neath the sun; Storm and sunshine, peace and strife, Floating on in the tide of life, Whither no man shall know. Who will miss them there to-morrow, Waifs that drift to the shade or sun? Gone away with their songs and sorrow; Only the river still flows on. NANCY LEE Of all the wives as e'er you know, See there she stands an' waves her hands upon the quay, And ev'ry day when I'm away, she 'll watch for me, An' whisper low, when tempests blow for Jack at Sea, Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall The boa's'n pipes the watch below, Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! Yeo-ho! Then here's a health afore we go, Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! A long long life to my sweet wife and mates at sea; An' keep our bones from Davy Jones where'er we be, An' may you meet a mate as sweet as Nancy Lee; Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall be, Yeo-ho! we go across the sea; The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall be, The sailor's wife his star shall be. A BIRD IN THE HAND THERE were three young maids of Lee, There were three young maids of They were fair as fair can be, He may take the one, or the two, or the three, If he 'll only take them away from Lee. These three old maids of Lee. DOUGLAS GORDON "Row me o'er the strait, Douglas Gordon, Row me o'er the strait, my love," said she, "Where we greeted in the summer, Douglas Gordon, Beyond the little Kirk by the old, old Never a word spoke Douglas Gordon, They floated to the little Kirk, "Give me a word of love, Douglas Gordon, Just a word of pity, O my love," said she, "For the bells will ring to-morrow, Douglas Gordon, My wedding bells, my love, but not for you and me. They told me you were false, Douglas And you never came to comfort me!" As they drifted to the little Kirk, "And it's never, never, never, Douglas Gordon, Never in this world that you may come to me, But tell me that you love me, Douglas Gordon, And kiss me for the love of all that used to be!" Then he flung away his sail, his oars and rudder, And he took her in his arms so tenderly, And they drifted on amain, And the bells may call in vain, For she and Douglas Gordon Are drowned in the sea. |