Southern garland . light:With spirit-surging stress of sobs and sighsA violinMade outcry in the night. You stayed me with a touch; wc ceased to moveAh, what divine the Circling Bcartbs. Che Circling lieartbs. And sad foreknowledge madeYour soul grow^ dark with fear ? I said, O love,O love of mineBe not, be not afraid! You stood a moment with white fingers then your cry,In vague, veiled w^ords—that oursWas passion of the old and tragic kind,Foredoomed to die—Turned dark the moonlit hours. I did not laugh ; I had no heart for merry scornTo turn aside your pain;A debt uncancel
Southern garland . light:With spirit-surging stress of sobs and sighsA violinMade outcry in the night. You stayed me with a touch; wc ceased to moveAh, what divine the Circling Bcartbs. Che Circling lieartbs. And sad foreknowledge madeYour soul grow^ dark with fear ? I said, O love,O love of mineBe not, be not afraid! You stood a moment with white fingers then your cry,In vague, veiled w^ords—that oursWas passion of the old and tragic kind,Foredoomed to die—Turned dark the moonlit hours. I did not laugh ; I had no heart for merry scornTo turn aside your pain;A debt uncancelled waited you on earthEre you were ... all the rest is vain. 0 love, when gentle things have you wise. And w^onder meetsYour gaze in other spheres, 1 think that I shall never set my eyes On moonlit keep them clear of tears. And if a lonely violin should graceSome night with lift my soul above,A sideway glance may show a shadowed , on my girl I used to love !. DERELICT. cne Circllttg AM the foolish artist, BeartbS. Far-fallen from the heightWhere winged gifts up-bore me,When life was young w^ith light. I am the foolish artist (Drugged brain and rolling gait);Men choke desire •within them And profit by my fate. They stay me in the byways (High morals make them bold) ;I seem to drink their sermons; I drink instead their gold. But such as seal their purses, The w^ord-free, miser tribe,I flay with whips of satire, And stab with goodly jibe. Along the hard, black pavemenl. When, lost to w^oe and weal,The Loved-of-God lie dreaming— I, God-abandoned, reel. At times, when sleep eludes them. They hear my footsteps roll— What ails the foolish artist That he drowns thus his soul! ! knocked at the gate of Glory, And straight it opened wide :A whisper wooed me earthward, Or I had stood inside. I knocked at the Heart of Woman ;Knocked with me boor and lout; eirclitiflRcartbs. Come open, O Heart of Woman !An artist stands without.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidsoutherngarl, bookyear1904
