Dinah Maria Mulock Craik: Всі вірші поета

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A Word In Season

THIS is a day the Lord hath made."--Thus spake

The good religious heart, unstained, unworn,

Watching the golden glory of the morn.--

Since, on each happy day that came to break

Like sunlight o'er this silent life of mine,

Yea, on each beauteous morning I saw shine,

I have remembered these your words, rejoiced

And been glad in it. So, o'er many-voiced

154

by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

A Marriage-Table

THERE was a marriage-table where One sate,

Haply, unnoticed, till they craved His aid:

Thenceforward does it seem that He has made

All virtuous marriage-tables consecrate:

And so, at this, where without pomp or state

We sit, and only say, or mute, are fain

To wish the simple words "God bless these twain!"

I think that He who "in the midst" doth wait

167

by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

After Sunset

REST--rest--four little letters, one short word,

Enfolding an infinitude of bliss--

Rest is upon the earth. The heavy clouds

Hang poised in silent ether, motionless,

Seeking nor sun nor breeze. No restless star

Thrills the sky's gray-robed breast with pulsing rays,

The night's heart has throbbed out.

No grass blade stirs,

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by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

"Until Her Death"

UNTIL her death!" the words read strange yet real,

Like things afar off suddenly brought near:--

Will it be slow or speedy, full of fear,

Or calm as a spent day of peace ideal?

II.

Will her brown locks lie white on coffin pillow?

Will these her eyes, that sometime were called sweet,

133

by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

A Ghost At The Dancing

A WIND-SWEPT tulip-bed--a colored cloud

Of butterflies careering in the air--

A many-figured arras stirred to life,

And merry unto midnight music dumb--

So the dance whirls. Do any think of thee,

Amiel, Amiel?

Friends greet each other--countless rills of talk

Meander round, scattering a spray of smiles.

154

by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

A True Hero

JAMES BRAIDWOOD: Died June 22, 1861.

NOT at the battle front,--writ of in story;

Not on the blazing wreck steering to glory;

Not while in martyr-pangs soul and flesh sever,

Died he--this Hero new; hero forever.

No pomp poetic crowned, no forms enchained him,

No friends applauding watched, no foes arraigned him:

Death found him there, without grandeur or beauty,

195

by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

A Silly Song

"O HEART, my heart!" she said, and heard

His mate the blackbird calling,

While through the sheen of the garden green

May rain was softly falling,--

Aye softly, softly falling.

The buttercups across the field

Made sunshine rifts of splendor:

The round snow-bud of the thorn in the wood

183

by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

A Sketch

"Emelie, that fayrer was to seene

Than is the lilye on hys stalke grene.....

Uprose the sun and uprose Emelie."

DOST thou thus love me, O thou beautiful?

So beautiful, that by thy side I seem

Like a great ducky cloud beside a star:

Yet thou creep'st o'er its edges, and it rests

On its lone path, the slow deep-hearted cloud--

130

by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

A Rejected Lover

You "never loved me," Ada. These slow words

Dropped softly from your gentle woman-tongue

Out of your true and kindly woman-heart,

Fell, piercing into mine like very swords

The sharper for their kindness. Yet no wrong

Lies to your charge, nor cruelty, nor art,--

Ev'n when you spoke, I saw the tender tear-drop start.

You "never loved me." No, you never knew,

162

by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

A Dead Sea-Gull

LACK-LUSTRE eye, and idle wing,

And smirchèd breast that skims no more,

White as the foam itself, the wave--

Hast thou not even a grave

Upon the dreary shore,

Forlorn, forsaken thing?

Thou whom the deep seas could not drown,

Nor all the elements affright,

150

by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

A Hymn For Christmas Morning

IT is the Christmas time:

And up and down 'twixt heaven and earth,

In glorious grief and solemn mirth,

The shining angels climb.

And unto everything

That lives and moves, for heaven, on earth,

With equal share of grief and mirth,

The shining angels sing:--

159

by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

A Winter Walk

WE never had believed, I wis,

At primrose time when west winds stole

Like thoughts of youth across the soul,

In such an altered time as this,

When if one little flower did peep

Up through the brown and sullen grass,

We should just look on it, and pass

As if we saw it in our sleep.

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by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik