Poems of Henry Timrod [17]
of song, To love, and God.
Dear God! if that I may not keep through life My trust, my truth, And that I must, in yonder endless strife, Lose faith with youth;
If the same toil which indurates the hand Must steel the heart, Till, in the wonders of the ideal land, It have no part;
Oh! take me hence! I would no longer stay Beneath the sky; Give me to chant one pure and deathless lay, And let me die!
Hark to the Shouting Wind
Hark to the shouting Wind! Hark to the flying Rain! And I care not though I never see A bright blue sky again.
There are thoughts in my breast to-day That are not for human speech; But I hear them in the driving storm, And the roar upon the beach.
And oh, to be with that ship That I watch through the blinding brine! O Wind! for thy sweep of land and sea! O Sea! for a voice like thine!
Shout on, thou pitiless Wind, To the frightened and flying Rain! I care not though I never see A calm blue sky again.
Too Long, O Spirit of Storm
Too long, O Spirit of Storm, Thy lightning sleeps in its sheath! I am sick to the soul of yon pallid sky, And the moveless sea beneath.
Come down in thy strength on the deep! Worse dangers there are in life, When the waves are still, and the skies look fair, Than in their wildest strife.
A friend I knew, whose days Were as calm as this sky overhead; But one blue morn that was fairest of all, The heart in his bosom fell dead.
And they thought him alive while he walked The streets that he walked in youth -- Ah! little they guessed the seeming man Was a soulless corpse in sooth.
Come down in thy strength, O Storm! And lash the deep till it raves! I am sick to the soul of that quiet sea, Which hides ten thousand graves.
The Lily Confidante
Lily! lady of the garden! Let me press my lip to thine! Love must tell its story, Lily! Listen thou to mine.
Two I choose to know the secret -- Thee, and yonder wordless flute; Dragons watch me, tender Lily, And thou must be mute.
There's a maiden, and her name is . . . Hist! was that a rose-leaf fell? See, the rose is listening, Lily, And the rose may tell.
Lily-browed and lily-hearted, She is very dear to me; Lovely? yes, if being lovely Is -- resembling thee.
Six to half a score of summers Make the sweetest of the "teens" -- Not too young to guess, dear Lily, What a lover means.
Laughing girl, and thoughtful woman, I am puzzled how to woo -- Shall I praise, or pique her, Lily? Tell me what to do.
"Silly lover, if thy Lily Like her sister lilies be, Thou must woo, if thou wouldst wear her, With a simple plea.
"Love's the lover's only magic, Truth the very subtlest art; Love that feigns, and lips that flatter, Win no modest heart.
"Like the dewdrop in my bosom, Be thy guileless language, youth; Falsehood buyeth falsehood only, Truth must purchase truth.
"As thou talkest at the fireside, With the little children by -- As thou prayest in the darkness, When thy God is nigh --
"With a speech as chaste and gentle, And such meanings as become Ear of child, or ear of angel, Speak, or be thou dumb.
"Woo her thus, and she shall give thee Of her heart the sinless whole, All the girl within her bosom, And her woman's soul."
The Stream is Flowing from the West
The stream is flowing from the west; As if it poured from yonder skies, It wears upon its rippling breast The sunset's golden dyes; And bearing onward to the sea, 'T will clasp the isle that holdeth thee.
I dip my hand within the wave; Ah! how impressionless and cold! I touch it with my lip, and lave My forehead in the gold. It is a trivial thought, but sweet, Perhaps the wave will kiss thy feet.
Alas! I leave no trace behind -- As little on the senseless stream As on thy heart, or on thy mind; Which was the simpler dream, To win that warm, wild love of thine, Or make the water whisper mine?
Dear stream! some moons must wax and wane Ere I again shall cross thy tide, And then, perhaps, a viewless chain Will drag me
Dear God! if that I may not keep through life My trust, my truth, And that I must, in yonder endless strife, Lose faith with youth;
If the same toil which indurates the hand Must steel the heart, Till, in the wonders of the ideal land, It have no part;
Oh! take me hence! I would no longer stay Beneath the sky; Give me to chant one pure and deathless lay, And let me die!
Hark to the Shouting Wind
Hark to the shouting Wind! Hark to the flying Rain! And I care not though I never see A bright blue sky again.
There are thoughts in my breast to-day That are not for human speech; But I hear them in the driving storm, And the roar upon the beach.
And oh, to be with that ship That I watch through the blinding brine! O Wind! for thy sweep of land and sea! O Sea! for a voice like thine!
Shout on, thou pitiless Wind, To the frightened and flying Rain! I care not though I never see A calm blue sky again.
Too Long, O Spirit of Storm
Too long, O Spirit of Storm, Thy lightning sleeps in its sheath! I am sick to the soul of yon pallid sky, And the moveless sea beneath.
Come down in thy strength on the deep! Worse dangers there are in life, When the waves are still, and the skies look fair, Than in their wildest strife.
A friend I knew, whose days Were as calm as this sky overhead; But one blue morn that was fairest of all, The heart in his bosom fell dead.
And they thought him alive while he walked The streets that he walked in youth -- Ah! little they guessed the seeming man Was a soulless corpse in sooth.
Come down in thy strength, O Storm! And lash the deep till it raves! I am sick to the soul of that quiet sea, Which hides ten thousand graves.
The Lily Confidante
Lily! lady of the garden! Let me press my lip to thine! Love must tell its story, Lily! Listen thou to mine.
Two I choose to know the secret -- Thee, and yonder wordless flute; Dragons watch me, tender Lily, And thou must be mute.
There's a maiden, and her name is . . . Hist! was that a rose-leaf fell? See, the rose is listening, Lily, And the rose may tell.
Lily-browed and lily-hearted, She is very dear to me; Lovely? yes, if being lovely Is -- resembling thee.
Six to half a score of summers Make the sweetest of the "teens" -- Not too young to guess, dear Lily, What a lover means.
Laughing girl, and thoughtful woman, I am puzzled how to woo -- Shall I praise, or pique her, Lily? Tell me what to do.
"Silly lover, if thy Lily Like her sister lilies be, Thou must woo, if thou wouldst wear her, With a simple plea.
"Love's the lover's only magic, Truth the very subtlest art; Love that feigns, and lips that flatter, Win no modest heart.
"Like the dewdrop in my bosom, Be thy guileless language, youth; Falsehood buyeth falsehood only, Truth must purchase truth.
"As thou talkest at the fireside, With the little children by -- As thou prayest in the darkness, When thy God is nigh --
"With a speech as chaste and gentle, And such meanings as become Ear of child, or ear of angel, Speak, or be thou dumb.
"Woo her thus, and she shall give thee Of her heart the sinless whole, All the girl within her bosom, And her woman's soul."
The Stream is Flowing from the West
The stream is flowing from the west; As if it poured from yonder skies, It wears upon its rippling breast The sunset's golden dyes; And bearing onward to the sea, 'T will clasp the isle that holdeth thee.
I dip my hand within the wave; Ah! how impressionless and cold! I touch it with my lip, and lave My forehead in the gold. It is a trivial thought, but sweet, Perhaps the wave will kiss thy feet.
Alas! I leave no trace behind -- As little on the senseless stream As on thy heart, or on thy mind; Which was the simpler dream, To win that warm, wild love of thine, Or make the water whisper mine?
Dear stream! some moons must wax and wane Ere I again shall cross thy tide, And then, perhaps, a viewless chain Will drag me