Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/374

 358 ALICE GARY. [1840-50. Than the young mother to her baby gives. When from his steady footing hungry Death Goes moaning back, the time has come to pluck Tlie honorable gear." " Nay, down with youth are my de- sires — Life has no pain I fear to meet ; Experience, with its awful fires. Melts knowledge to a welding heat. " And all its fires of heart or brain, Where purpose into power was wrought, I'd bear, and gladly bear again. Rather than be put back one thought. " For, could you mould my destiny As clay, within your loving hand, I'd leave my youth's sweet company, And suffer back to where I stand." "What though I yet have my gown to spin? He'll kiss my shoulders, and hide them in Ripples of rose-red blushes — And I shall be dressed with blushes." "You must not leave me thus, Jenny — You will not, when you know It is my life you're treading on At every step you go. " Ah, should you smile as now, Jenny, When the wint'ry weather blows. The daisy, waking out of sleep. Would come up through the snows." " Wait yet a little longer ! hear me tell How much my will transcends my feeble powers : As one with blind eyes, feeling out in flowers Their tender hues, or with no skill to spell His poor, poor name, but only makes his mark. And guesses at the sunshine in the dark. So I have been. A sense of things di- vine. Lying broad above the little things I knew, The while I made my poems for a sign Of the great melodies I felt were true." " Come, Poesy, and with thy shadowy hands Cover me softly, singing all the night — In thy dear presence find I best delight ; Even the saint that stands Tending the gate of heaven, involved in beams Of rarest glory, to my mortal eyes Pales from the bless'd insanity of dreams That round thee lies. Unto the dusky borders of the grove Where gray-haired Saturn, silent as a stone. Sat in his grief alone, Or, where young Venus, searching for her love, Walked through the clouds, I pray, Bear me to-night away. " Or wade with me through snows Drifted in loose fantastic curves aside. From humble doors where Love and Faith abide, And no rough winter blows, ChiUing the beauty of affections fair, Cabined securely there, — Where round their fingers winding the white slips That crov.-n his forehead, on the grand- sire's knees. Sit merry children, teasing about ships Lost in the perilous seas ; Or listening with a troublous joy, yet deep, To stories about battles, or of storms, Till weary grown, and drowsing into sleep. Slide they from out his arms."