Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley

I stood far off above the haunts of men Somewhere, I know not, when the sky was dim From some worn glory, and the morning hymn

The world to-day is radiant, as I ne'er Could picture it in wildest dreaming, when For long, long hours I lay in flowery glen

In the east a lightening; Where the woods are chill Moves an unseen finger,

The world may rage without, Quiet is here; Statesmen may toil and shout,

Evening has thrown her hushing garment round This little world; no harsh or jarring sound Disturbs my reverie. The room is dark,

Let us peer forward through the dusk of years And force the silent future to reveal Her store of garnered joys; we may not kneel

There is a long thin line of fading gold In the far West, and the transfigured leaves On some slight, topmost bough that sways and heaves

Clear sounds the call on high: "To arms and victory!" Brave hearts that win or die,

I have been wandering where the daisies grow, Great fields of tall, white daisies, and I saw Them bend reluctantly, and seem to draw

They stream across the fading western sky A sable cloud, far o'er the lonely leas; Now parting into scattered companies,

If days should pass without a written word To tell me of thy welfare, and if days Should lengthen out to weeks, until the maze

The light has left the hill-side. Yesterday These skies shewed blue against the dusky trees, The leaves' soft murmur in the evening breeze

I do not know if all the fault be mine, Or why I may not think of thee and be At peace with mine own heart. Unceasingly

Cam'st thou not nigh to me In that one glimpse of thee When thy lips, tremblingly,

A breath                         A breath And a sigh, -                     And a sigh, -  How we fly                       How we fly

Oh come, Eurydice! The Stygian deeps are past Well-nigh; the light dawns fast.

What of our life when this frail flesh lies low A withered clod, and the free soul has burst Through the world-fetters? Not of souls accursed

There are some things, dear Friend, are easier far To say in written words than when we sit Eye answering eye, or hand to hand close knit.

Since first I met thee, Dear, and long before I knew myself beloved, save by the sense All women have, a shadowy confidence

I have been pondering what our teachers call The mystery of Pain; and lo! my thought After it's half-blind reaching out has caught

Dear, I am lonely, for the bay is still As any hill-girt lake; the long brown beach Lies bare and wet. As far as eye can reach

Spring's face is wreathed in smiles. She had been driven Hither and thither at the surly will Of treacherous winds till her sweet heart was chill.

No ripple stirs the water, No song-bird wakes the grove, Calm noon-tide sways his sceptre,

My spirit holds you, Dear, Though worlds away," - This to their absent ones

The full-orbed Paschal moon; dark shadows flung On the brown Lenten earth; tall spectral trees Stand in their huge and naked strength erect,

I stood upon a hill, and watched the death Of the day's turmoil. Still the glory spread Cloud-top to cloud-top, and each rearing head

I see the starting buds, I catch the gleam In the near distance of a sun-kissed pool, The blessed April air blows soft and cool,

Brother and friend I found thee in the hour Of need and day of trouble, strong and true. - In June's fair mirth, and when the sunrise hue

For our Love's sake I bid thee stay, Sweet, ere the hours flee away, Beneath the old acacia tree

I will forget those days of mingled bliss And dear delicious pain, - will cast from me All dreams of what I know can never be,

It might have been so different a year To what has been; the summer's guileless play Not all a jest, comes back to me to-day

"Pourquoi," she breathed, then drooped her head, (Pure snow-drifts to the sunset wed) As all my weakness I confessed.

When summer comes, and when o'er hill and lea The sun's strong wooing glow hath patiently Shed o'er the earth long days his golden dower,

It sings to me, it sings to me, The shore-blown voice of the blithesome sea! Of its world of gladness all untold,

A dash of spray, A weed-browned way, - My ship's in the bay,

The night is long And there are no stars, - Let me but dream

My boat is still in the reedy cove Where the rushes hinder its onward course, For I care not now if we rest or move

I have known a thousand pleasures, - Love is best - Ocean's songs and forest treasures,

Deep in the green bracken lying, Close by the welcoming sea, Dream I, and let all my dreaming

I aimless wandered thro' the woods, and flung My idle limbs upon a soft brown bank, Where, thickly strewn, the worn-out russet leaves

There is no God? If one should stand at noon Where the glow rests, and the warm sunlight plays, Where earth is gladdened by the cordial rays

But one short night between my Love and me! I watch the soft-shod dusk creep wistfully Through the slow-moving curtains, pausing by

The world may rage without, Quiet is here; Statesmen may toil and shout,

The sky, grown dull through many waiting days, Flashed into crimson with the sunrise charm, So all my love, aroused to vague alarm,

This April sun has wakened into cheer The wintry paths of thought, and tinged with gold These threadbare leaves of fancy brown and old.