Read Ebook: The Dreamers And Other Poems by Garrison Theodosia Pickering

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Ebook has 336 lines and 17208 words, and 7 pages

THE POPLARS

THE LITTLE JOYS

SONGS OF HIMSELF

HIMSELF

THE FAIR

THE DANCING DAYS

SHEILA

THE GRIEF

THE INTRODUCTION

THE STAY-AT-HOME

THE DREAMERS

The gypsies passed her little gate-- She stopped her wheel to see,-- A brown-faced pair who walked the road, Free as the wind is free; And suddenly her tidy room A prison seemed to be.

Her shining plates against the walls, Her sunlit, sanded floor, The brass-bound wedding chest that held Her linen's snowy store, The very wheel whose humming died,-- Seemed only chains she bore.

She watched the foot-free gypsies pass; She never knew or guessed The wistful dream that drew them close-- The longing in each breast Some day to know a home like hers, Wherein their hearts might rest.

THREE SONGS IN A GARDEN

White rose-leaves in my hands, I toss you all away; The winds shall blow you through the world To seek my wedding day. Or East you go, or West you go And fall on land or sea, Find the one that I love best And bring him here to me. And if he finds me spinning 'Tis short I'll break my thread; And if he finds me dancing I'll dance with him instead; If he finds me at the Mass--

My lilies are like nuns in white That guard me well all day, But the red, red rose that near them grows Is wiser far than they. Oh, red rose, wise rose, Keep my secret well; I kiss you twice, I kiss you thrice To pray you not to tell. My lilies sleep beneath the moon, But wide awake are you, And you have heard a certain word And seen a dream come true. Oh, red rose, wise rose, Silence for my sake, Nor drop to-night a petal light Lest my white lilies wake.

Will the garden never forget That it whispers over and over, "Where is your lover, Nanette? Where is your lover--your lover?" Oh, roses I helped to grow, Oh, lily and mignonette, Must you always question me so, "Where is your lover, Nanette?" Since you looked on my joy one day, Is my grief then a lesser thing? Have you only this to say When I pray you for comforting? Now that I walk alone Here where our hands were met, Must you whisper me every one, "Where is your lover, Nanette?"

I have mourned with you year and year, When the Autumn has left you bare, And now that my heart is sere Does not one of your roses care? Oh, help me forget--forget, Nor question over and over, "Where is your lover, Nanette? Where is your lover--your lover?"

THE RETURN

I lost Young Love so long ago I had forgot him quite, Until a little lass and lad Went by my door to-night.

Ah, hand in hand, but not alone, They passed my open door, For with them walked that other one Who paused here Mays before.

And I, who had forgotten long, Knew suddenly the grace Of one who in an empty land Beholds a kinsman's face.

Oh, Young Love, gone these many years, 'Twas you came back to-night, And laid your hand on my two eyes That they might see aright,

And took my listless hand in yours , And touched me on my tired heart That it might beat again.

BLACK SHEEP

One is for the mother who prays for me at night-- A gift of broken promises to count by candle-light.

One is for the tried friend who raised me when I fell-- A gift of weakling's tinsel oaths that strew the path to hell.

And one is for the true love--the heaviest of all-- That holds the pieces of a faith a careless hand let fall.

A word unto my mother to bid her think o' me Only as a little lad playing at her knee.

A word unto my tried friend to bid him see again Two laughing lads in Springtime a-racing down the glen.

A word unto my true love--a single word--to pray If one day I cross her path to turn her eyes away.

MONSEIGNEUR PLAYS

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte-- Within her gilded chair the Queen Listens, her rustling maids between; A very tulip-garden stirred To hear the fluting of a bird; Faint sunlight through the casement falls On cupids painted on the walls At play with doves. Precisely set Awaits the slender legged spinet Expectant of its happy lot, The while the player stays to twist The cobweb ruffle from his wrist. A pause, and then-- Monseigneur plays his new gavotte.

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte-- Hark, 'tis the faintest dawn of Spring, So still the dew drops whispering Is loud upon the violets; Here in this garden of Pierrettes' Where Pierrot waits, ah, hasten Sweet, And hear; on dainty, tripping feet She comes--the little, glad coquette. "Ah thou, Pierrot?" "Ah thou, Pierrette?" A kiss, nay, hear--a bird wakes, then A silence--and they kiss again, "Ah, Mesdames, have you quite forgot--" "Love's first kiss? Let this note lead you then, and this Back to that fragrant garden-spot." Monseigneur plays his new gavotte.

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte-- Ah, hear--in that last note they go The little lovers laughing so; Kissing their finger-tips, they dance From out this gilded room of France. Adieu! Monseigneur rises now Ready for compliment and bow, Playing about his mouth the while Its cynical, accustomed smile, Protests and, hand on heart, avers The patience of his listeners. "A masterpiece? Ah, surely not." A grey-eyed maid of honour slips A long stemmed rose across her lips And drops it; does he guess her thought? Monseigneur plays his new gavotte.

UNBELIEF

Your chosen grasp the torch of faith--the key Of very certainty is theirs to hold. They read Your word in messages of gold. Lord, what of us who have no light to see And in the darkness doubt, whose hands may be Broken upon the door, who find but cold Ashes of words where others see enscrolled, The glorious promise of Life's victory.

Oh, well for those to whom You gave the light whose award Is that sure key--that message luminous, Yet we, your people stumbling in the night, Doubting and dumb and disbelieving--Lord, Is there no word for us--no word for us?

THE SILENT ONE

The moon to-night is like the sun Through blossomed branches seen; Come out with me, dear silent one, And trip it on the green.

"Nay, Lad, go you within its light, Nor stay to urge me so-- 'Twas on another moonlit night My heart broke long ago."

Oh loud and high the pipers play To speed the dancers on; Come out and be as glad as they, Oh, little Silent one.

"Nay, Lad, where all your mates are met Go you the selfsame way, Another dance I would forget Wherein I too was gay."

But here you sit long day by day With those whose joys are done; What mates these townfolk old and grey For you dear Silent one.

"Nay, Lad, they're done with joys and fears. Rare comrades should we prove, For they are very old with years And I am old with love."

THE ROSE

I took the love you gave, Ah, carelessly, Counting it only as a rose to wear A little moment on my heart no more, So many roses had I worn before, So lightly that I scarce believed them there.

But, Lo! this rose between the dusk and dawn Hath turned to very flame upon my breast, A flame that burns the day-long and the night, A flame of very anguish and delight That not for any moment yields me rest.

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