Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/400

SONGS AND BALLADS Eyes of dewy violet!

Nothing like them, Margaret,

Save the blossoms newly born

Of the May and of the Morn.

Oft my memory wanders back

To those burning eyes and black,

Whose heat-lightnings once could move

Me to passion, not to love;

Longer in my heart of hearts

Linger those disguisèd arts,

Which, betimes, a hazel pair

Used upon me unaware;

And the wise and tender gray—

Eyes wherewith a saint might pray—

Speak of pledges that endure

And of faith and vigils pure;

But for him who fain would know

All the fire the first can show,

All the art, or friendship fast,

Of the second and the last,—

And would gain a subtler worth,

Part of Heaven, part of earth,—

He these mingled rays can find

In but one immortal kind:

In those eyes of violet,

In your eyes, May Margaret!

AT TWILIGHT

sunset darkens in the west,

The sea-gulls haunt the bay,

And far and high the swallows fly

To watch the dying day.

Now where is she that once with me

The rippling waves would list? 370