Page:Maurine and Other Poems (1910).pdf/66

 Once I bemoaned the long and lonely years That stretched before me, dark with love’s eclipse; And thought how my unmated heart would miss The shelter of a broad and manly breast— The strong, bold arm—the tender clinging kiss— And all pure love’s possessions, manifold; But now I wept a flood of bitter tears, Thinking of little heads of shining gold, That would not on my bosom sink to rest; Of little hands that would not touch my cheek; Of little lisping voices, and sweet lips, That never in my list’ning ear would speak The blessed name of mother.

Oh, in woman How mighty is the love of offspring! Ere Unto her wond’ring, untaught mind unfolds The myst’ry that is half divine, half human, Of life and birth, the love of unborn souls Within her, and the mother-yearning creeps Through her warm heart, and stirs its hidden deeps, And grows and strengthens with each riper year.

As storms may gather in a placid sky, And spend their fury, and then pass away, Leaving again the blue of cloudless day, E’en so the tempest of my grief passed by. ’Twas weak to mourn for what I had resigned, With the deliberate purpose of my mind, To my sweet friend.

Relinquishing my love, I gave my dearest hope of joy to her. If God, from out His boundless store above, Had chosen added blessings to confer, I would rejoice, for her sake—not repine That th’ immortal treasures were not mine.

Better my lonely sorrow, than to know My selfish joy had been another’s woe; Better my grief and my strength to control, Than the despair of her frail-bodied soul; Better to go on, loveless, to the end, Than wear love’s rose, whose thorn had slain my friend.

Work is the salve that heals the wounded heart. With will most resolute I set my aim