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

Quatrains.

Sudden and swift, and like a passing wind.

MATTHEW ARNOLD.

THE LOST ROOM.

WHEN I came out of the fair House of Youth I heedlessly behind me closed the door—Now every hour is bitter with the truth That I can find that portal never more.

AUTUMN DAYS.

AUTUMN days no solace bring— Harvest time is vain— Come again, O joy of spring— Come Youth's April pain.

A DEAD POET.

SHE was the brightest thing beneath the sun— Joy had of her his will— And, now her singing life is spent and done, The world seems strange and chill.

IN A LIBRARY.

THE living ofttimes vex us— The wise old dead are best— When Life's vain games perplex us 'T is here we turn for rest.

THE KING DETHRONED.

HE wore the purple a year and a day—His pride was high, and his will was strong:— "Then why was his reign so brief?" you say— He reigneth gently who reigneth long.

WHO KNOWS?

THE Lily lifts to mine her nunlike face, But my wild heart is beating for the Rose: How can I pause to heed the Lily's grace?— Shall I repent me by and by? Who knows?

DAY'S MOCKERY.

I HEARD Love's voice thrill all the waiting Night, And I arose and followed where he led: Then Morning mocked me with revealing light— The great bright world was empty—Love was dead.

YOU.

I SAW your face, and knew it was the Spring; Your eyes were bluer than the morning skies, And when you smiled the birds began to sing, Waiting no longer for the sun to rise.

I STUDIED LIFE.

I STUDIED Life in Helen's look, And knew that Life was mine—Now she is dead I close the book; Death has no countersign.

THE PRODIGAL.

SAD penitent, beloved of God thou art, Thy wandering feet He welcomes home at night— More dear than those who never did depart Is the returning sinner, to His sight.