Theodosia Garrison

My love it should be silent, being deep-- And being very peaceful should be still-- Still as the utmost depths of ocean keep--

I They whisper at my very gate, These clacking gossips every one,

I am as weary as a child That weeps upon its mother's breast For joy of comforting. But I

God send thee peace, Oh, great unhappy heart-- A world away, I pray that thou mayst rest Softly as on the Well-Belov'd's breast,

I like to think this friendship that we hold As youth's high gift in our two hands to-day Still shall we find as bright, untarnished gold

Sometimes, slow moving through unlovely days, The need to look on beauty falls on me As on the blind the anguished wish to see,

"Black Sheep, Black Sheep, Have you any wool?" "That I have, my Master,

A hundred miles between us Could never part us more Than that one step you took from me

Good-bye, Pierrette. The new moon waits Like some shy maiden at the gates Of rose and pearl, to watch us stand

Oh, Heart of a Hundred Sorrows, Whose pity is great therefore, The gift that thy children bring thee

The houseful that we were then, you could count us by the dozens, The wonder was that sometimes the old walls wouldn't burst: Herself (the Lord be good to her!), the aunts and rafts of cousins,

Never did I find me mate for charmin' an' delightin', Never one that had me bate for courtin' an' for fightin';-- (A white moon at the crossroads then, and Denny with the fiddle;

I My life has been like a bee that roves Through a scented garden close,

My father took me by the hand And led me home again; (He brought me in from sorrow

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte-- Within her gilded chair the Queen Listens, her rustling maids between;

Mothers of men--the words are good indeed in the saying, Pride in the very sound of them, strength in the sense of them, then Why is it their faces haunt me, wistful faces as praying

I saw the old sea captain in his city daughter's house, Shaved till his chin was pink, and brushed till his hair was flat, In a broadcloth suit and varnished boots and a collar up to his ears.

Orchards in the Spring-time! Oh, I think and think of them,-- Filmy mists of pink and white above the fresh, young green, Lifting and drifting,--how my eyes could drink of them,

The kindliest thing God ever made, His hand of very healing laid Upon a fevered world, is shade.

Katie had the grand eyes and Delia had a way with her, And Mary had the Saints' face and Maggie's waist was neat, But Sheila had the merry heart that travelled all the day with her,

It was not then her heart broke-- That moment when she knew That all her faith held holiest

When the white dawn comes I shall kneel to welcome it; The dread that darkened on my eyes

I Though other eyes were turned to him, He turned to look in mine;

Good-bye, my song--I, who found words for sorrow, Offer my joy to-day a useless lute. In the deep night I sang me of the morrow;

The burden that I bear would be no less Should I cry out against it; though I fill The weary day with sound of my distress,

I must be off where the green boughs beckon-- Why should I linger to barter and reckon? The mart may pay me--the mart may cheat me,

I call my years back, I, grown old, Recall them day by day; And some are dressed in cloth o' gold

A great king made a feast for Love, And golden was the board and gold The hundred, wondrous gauds thereof;

The gypsies passed her little gate-- She stopped her wheel to see,-- A brown-faced pair who walked the road,

April will come to the quiet town That I left long ago, Scattering primroses up and down--

The pick o' seven counties, so they're tellin' me, was there, Horses racin' on the track, and fiddles on the green, Flyin' flags and blowin' horns and all that makes a fair,

The heart of me's an empty thing, that never stirs at all For Moon-shine or Spring-time, or a far bird's call. I only know 'tis living by a grief that shakes it so,--

I wish we might go gypsying one day the while we're young-- On a blue October morning Beneath a cloudless sky,

I never climb a high hill Or gaze across the lea, But, Oh, beyond the two of them,

I'm askin' you'll be easy for a bit, Sir, The lad's had little but a thrush's schoolin', The blue skies and the fields, the little whipster,

My little joys went by me As little children run Across the fields at sunset

So quietly I seem to sit apart; I think she does not know or guess at all, How dear this certain hour to my old heart,

The long grief left her old--and then Came love and made her young again As though some newer, gentler Spring

They brought to the little Princess, from her earliest hour of birth, The lovely things, the beautiful things, the soft things of earth. They covered her floor with crimson, they wrapped her in eiderdown;

He made him a love o' dreams-- He raised for his heart's delight-- (As the heart of June a crescent moon)

My poplars are like ladies trim, Each conscious of her own estate; In costume somewhat over prim,

I lost Young Love so long ago I had forgot him quite, Until a little lass and lad

I come to you grown weary of much laughter, From jangling mirth that once seemed over-sweet, From all the mocking ghosts that follow after

I said I will go back again where we Were glad together. But my dear, my dear, Where are the roses we were wont to see

I took the love you gave, Ah, carelessly, Counting it only as a rose to wear A little moment on my heart no more,

For mocking on men's faces He only sees instead The hidden, hundred traces

The moon to-night is like the sun Through blossomed branches seen; Come out with me, dear silent one,

All that I know of love I see In eyes that never look at me; All that I know of love I guess

Comin' or goin' still they spread the news, About America how grand it is, The wonders that are waitin' you to choose

They do not know the awful tears we shed, The tender treasures that we keep and kiss; They could not be so still--our quiet dead

The Angel of the night when night was gone High upon Heaven's ramparts, cried, "The Dawn!" And wheeling worlds grew radiant with the one

The little dream she had forgot Oh, long and long ago, Came back across the April fields

She put her wedding-gown away As tenderly as one might close, With kissing lips and finger-tips,

White rose-leaves in my hands, I toss you all away; The winds shall blow you through the world

My lilies are like nuns in white That guard me well all day, But the red, red rose that near them grows

Will the garden never forget That it whispers over and over, "Where is your lover, Nanette?

They are ashamed who leave so soon The Inn of Grief--who thought to stay Through many a faithful sun and moon,

Below them in the twilight the quiet village lies, And warm within its holding, the old folks and the wise, But here within the open fields the paths of Eden show,

Your chosen grasp the torch of faith--the key Of very certainty is theirs to hold. They read Your word in messages of gold.

High above his happy head Little leaves of Spring were spread; And adown the dewy lawn

What do they know of youth, who still are young? They but the singers of a golden song Who may not guess its worth or wonder--flung