Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/193

Rh The wedded roses of thy lips,
 * Thy loose hair rippling down
 * In waves of golden brown.

Look forth once more through space and time,
 * And let thy sweet shade fall

In tenderest grace of soul and form
 * On memory’s frescoed wall,
 * A shadow, and yet all!

Draw near, more near, forever dear!
 * Where’er I rest or roam,

Or in the city’s crowded streets,
 * Or by the blown sea foam,
 * The thought of thee is home!

At breakfast hour the singer read
 * The city news, with comment wise,

Like one who felt the pulse of trade
 * Beneath his finger fall and rise.

His look, his air, his curt speech, told
 * The man of action, not of books,

To whom the corners made in gold
 * And stocks were more than seaside nooks.

Of life beneath the life confessed
 * His song had hinted unawares;

Of flowers in traffic’s ledgers pressed,
 * Of human hearts in bulls and bears.

But eyes in vain were turned to watch
 * That face so hard and shrewd and strong;

And ears in vain grew sharp to catch
 * The meaning of that morning song.

In vain some sweet-voiced querist sought
 * To sound him, leaving as she came;

Her baited album only caught
 * A common, unromantic name.

No word betrayed the mystery fine,
 * That trembled on the singer’s tongue;

He came and went, and left no sign
 * Behind him save the song he sung.

fringe on the purpling hem
 * Of hills the river runs,

As down its long, green valley falls