Poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton / [by Louise Chandler Moulton] [electronic text]

[RONDEAUX.]

"WITH THOSE CLEAR EYES."

TO A. C. W.

LOOK at me, love, with those clear eyes In which I see the thoughts arise, As, gazing in a limpid well, Unto Narcissus it befell To see himself with glad surprise.

Blue with the blue of summer skies,— Dear skies, behind which heaven lies,— With one swift gaze my gloom dispel. Look at me, love!

See all my heart! Its weakest cries, Its lonely prayers, its longing sighs, A language are which you can spell; You do not need what words can tell On printed page to make you wise. Look at me, love!

LOVE'S GHOST.

IS Love at end? How did he go? His coming was full sweet, I know; But when he went he slipped away And never paused to say good-day— How could the traitor leave me so?

There's something in the summer, though, That brings the old time back, and lo! This phantom that would bar my way Is dead Love's ghost.

His footfall is as soft as snow, And in his path the lilies blow; He quenches the just-kindled ray With which I fain would light my way, And bids me newer joys forego, This tyrant ghost.

HOW COULD I TELL?

HOW could I tell skies would be gray When you, dear heart, had gone away? How could I know the summer sun Was glad of you to look upon, And it was you who warmed the day?

What part you had to make the May, And how the very June was gay With something from your presence won, How could I tell?

When you were here, a fervid ray Of sudden summer lit my way; Now you with love and life are done, The very light seems me to shun, And through the dark I darkly stray— How could I tell?

WHEN LOVE WAS YOUNG.

WHEN Love was young, in days of yore, On bended knee full oft I swore To him alone I'd homage pay; I'd love forever and a day, And love with every day the more.

I sang his praises o'er and o'er; I conned no missal but his lore—Oh, but the world and I were gay When Love was young!

His blazonry the morning bore, And all the larks that sing and soar Praised him upon their skyward way. . . Ah, happy choir of yesterday, When Love was young!

IF LOVE COULD LAST.

IF Love could last, I'd spend my all And think the price were yet too small To buy his light upon my way, His sun to turn my night to day, His cheer whatever might befall.

Were I his slave, or he my thrall, No terrors should my heart appall; I 'd fear no wreckage or dismay If Love could last.

Heaven's lilies grow up white and tall, But warm within earth's garden wall With roses red the soft winds play—Ah, might I gather them to-day! My hands should never let them fall, If Love could last.

O SWEETEST MAID!

TO M. R. L.

O SWEETEST maid, in other days The troubadours had sung your praise, And knights had died and joyed to die To win a smile as you passed by, While lord and lackey stood at gaze.

What wonder that the task dismays To wreathe your brow with modern bays, Or rhyming tricks for you to try, O sweetest maid!

For you should be those loftier lays Of which from far the echo strays, In matchless, murmurous melody That dies in Love's divinest sigh— Still Love's strong will my rhyme obeys, O sweetest maid!

IF YOU WERE HERE.

TO F. M. S.

IF you were here, or I were there, Then would I find the season fair. How blissfully the day would rise! How blue would be the summer skies! And all the world a smile would wear.

What pleasant things we two would share! By what green paths we two would fare! How sweet would be each day's surprise If you were here!

But now my joy is otherwhere; Each day's a burden that I bear; And Pleasure mocks at me and flies, And Pain stands by my side and sighs; And yet I know skies would be fair If you were here.