Page:The Pacific Monthly volumes 1-3.djvu/1061



In a chamber rich with wedded color A maiden loosed her lustrous hair, Like a young moon meshed in threaded sun- light Her beauty throbbed in the tressy snare. Oh, she was fair as a rose-lipped lily — A rosy marble of molded song, And around her lips fond thoughts were humming Like sweet-faint bees that feast too long. Love will surely come tomorrow, Even now his glowing feet Dash the dappled shore of darkness Into blushes warm and sweet, And his wavering, ruby arrow Pledges heaven to me tomorrow.

Awhile she stood in the rippled splendor Of amber tresses all unbound. And the irised clouds of castled dreamland Ever her sea-deep soul surround. And the dear eyes drooped with a sudden languor, And over her curving lips a shade Of far, faint trouble fell and flitted. As she gathered her hair in a careless braid. Love will surely come tomorrow; But if love inconstant be Death had better wear my favor As a faithful knight to me; Better, if love assail with sorrow, Death should be my guest tomorrow.

And the twin-sphered bosom, like camelias, White-clustered round twin buds of rose, Now loose a gilded swarm of star-beams To feed upon her sweet repose; As the lashes, brown as twilight shadows, Droop softly o'er the sapphire eyes, And around her lips the bashful dimple Of love's young hope entranced lies. Love will surely come tomorrow; All the roses at the gate Lean their dewy heads together As they whisper, "Dream and wait!" Many maids a wreath will borrow When they greet their loves tomorrow."

And the moon uprose: her slender sickle

From steep to steep was handed on. And all the harvest gold of midnight In sheafy splendor showered down: An angel, from the fretted casement Of one far star, on wings of pearl, Kent tryst with her, upon her bosom One moment lay his fraerrant curl. Love will surely come tomorrow; Whom the angels kiss at night. 'Neath the vermeil arch of morning Ever find their soul's delight — Never more a doubt will harrow, Love will surely come tomorrow.

And the morning broke, its beryl billow Fringed with scarlet foam outspread, And the day had burst its dewy calyx, And flamed in blossom overhead; But the maiden, pale as some wan flower, In whose pure chalice love had burned Its magic perfumes, lay unlitten Heart and hope to ashes turned. Death will often claim the morrow We have wreathen with desire, Often hope but decks the altar Where her flames at last expire. Yet, if love assail with sorrow, Death were truer king tomorrow.

The temples of youth are decaying

In Beutah, the beautiful vale, And my life has been wearily straying

Away from its beautiful pale, Where the waters of Marah are sobbing

The sorrow ot desolate years — The sorrow and tremulous throbbing

Of hopes that have darkened to fears. Forever, forever, forever, The dolorous song of the river,

The wail of the river of tears.

In Beulah, a ring-belted river,

That danced in a garland of pearl, First sang the refrain of forever

With many a wimple and swirl, And the flag-flowers bent in the rushes

For a touch of the fanciful stream, And the roses in redolent blushes

Were aflame with the magical dream. Forever, forever, forever, Was the song of the ring-belted river,

The refrain of a beautiful theme.

And love, with red lips, in the pauses

Of passion took up the refrain, And the birds, in their rapturous clauses

Of silence to listen were fain; But the leaves in a silvery quiver

Of mystery whispered the breeze That a rainbow of crimson would ever

Rekindle the blossom of ease. Forever, forever, forever. Was the song of the jubilant river,

In the odorous haunts of the bees.

Where the mountains, in desolate places,

Are kneeling, bare-kneed, in the sand, And my Sphinxes, with mystical faces,

Are gazing in revery grand — ■ The garlands I twined by the river

Are fillets of flame on my brow, And the crystalline chime of forever

Is the dirge of Elysium now. Forever, forever, forever, Alas, for the musical river That sang me the treacherous vow.