Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/390

IF I WERE THE LIGHT OF THE BRIGHTEST STAR.

If I were the light of the brightest star,
That burns in the zenith now,
I would tremble down from my home afar,
To kiss thy radiant brow.
If I were the breath of a fragrant flower,
With a viewless wing and free,
I would steal away from the fairest bower,
And live, love, but for thee.

If I were the soul of bewitching song,
With a moving, melting tone,
I would float from the gay and thoughtless
throng,
And soothe thy soul alone.
If I were a charm, by fairy wrought,
I would bind thee with a sign ;
And never again should a gloomy thought
O'ershadow thy spirit's shrine.

If I were a memory, past alloy,
I would linger where thou art ;
If I were a thought of abiding joy,
I would nestle in thy heart.
If I were a hope, with the magic light
That makes the future fair,
I would make thy path on the earth as
bright
As the paths of angels are.

THE FLOWER AND THE STARLIGHT.

From its home on high, to a gentle flower
That bloomed in a lonely grove,
The starlight came at the twilight hour,
And whispered a tale of love.

Then the blossom's heart so still and cold,
Grew warm to its silent core,
And gave out perfume, from its inmost fold,
It never exhaled before.

And the blossom slept through the summer night,
In the smile of the angel-ray,
And the morn arose with its garish light,
And the soft one stole away.

Then the zephyr w^ooed, as he wandered by
Where the gentle floweret grew,
But she gave no heed to his- plaintive sigh;
Her heart to its love was true.

And the sunbeam came, with a lover's art.
To caress the flower in vain ;
She folded her sweets in her thrilling heart
Till the starlight came again.

DIRGE FOR THE OLD YEAR.

Toll, toll, toll.
Where the winter winds are sighing ;
Toll, toll, toll.
Where the somber clouds are flying ;
Toll, toll, toll,
A deeper, sadder knoll, —
Than sounds for a passing soul, —
Should tell of the Old Year, dying.
Spirits of beauty and light.
Goblins of darkness and night,
From your sunny paths, in the azure sky.
From the Stygian shores, where the shadows lie,
From your co)'al homes, in the ocean caves.
From the frigid north, where the tempest raves,
Come to the pale one dying.
Hark ! to the faUing of phantom feet,
Beat, beat, beat, beat.
Like the solemn sounds, when the surges meet.
On the shores of a mighty river —
They are folding the dead in his winding-sheet.
To bear him away forever.