قراءة كتاب Harry
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strange chill steal into my heart—
Should he permit such remarks from the crowd?
Can it be their part? Can it be his part?
They the mean snobs! he the noble and proud!
No shooting to-day of partridge or snipe;
It has steadily rained since morning broke,
In dancing spirits I kindle his pipe
(I am learning to like the smell of smoke!)
He has given up such a deal for me!
He likes to give up his bachelor way;
He says it is charming not to be free,
So he only smokes one pipe in the day.
Together we sit in his little room,
Which is fitted up like a dainty toy;
And if without there is darkness and gloom,
Within there is plenty of light and joy.
'Tell me of all you have done, if you can,'
I cry, as the pretty smoke lightly curls;
'I want to hear of the life of a man
I, who only know of the life of girls!'
He shakes his head with a smile and a nod,
The smoke curling round it with idle aim;
He is like the picture of some young god,
Who, from painted clouds, looks out of a frame.
'The life of a girl is a fairy thing,
With a sweetness none can wish to forget,
Caught from a snowdrop in earliest spring
Or the first faint breath of a violet;
The life of a man, as it is and was,
Is like autumn leaves decaying and dead,
With a flavour of bad theatrical gas,
And of last night's banquet,' my husband said.
I laugh'd at the gay nonsensical speech,
In my merry pride at being his wife;
I sat at his feet, and I bade him teach
A neophyte out of his noble life.
He mutter'd 'My noble life!' with a frown,
'With noble lives I have little to do;
My dear, put those frivolous notions down,
I am but a man, and a weak one too.
My life has been full of confounded things,
I am only a man, like other men;
But we hear a flutter of angel-wings,
And our demons forsake us, there and then.
In marrying thee, my innocent sprite,
I had caught a glimpse of a purer joy;
I turn'd a new page, and the page was white;
I'm quite determin'd to be a good boy!'
His hand sought my head with a careless grace,
And the sun shone suddenly out on us;
O gracious and sweet was my Harry's face,—
Why should a hero belie himself thus?
PART II.
When turf is level how rapid the pace!
Linger ye moments!—be patient my life!
Marriage is only an idyl of grace,
What knows a bride of the bliss of a wife?
Are all things the dearer for growing old?
As flowers are sweeter deep in a wood;
Will the warmth of May in July seem cold?
Was earth less perfect when God call'd it 'good'?
Even roses when young are only green,
And the exquisite perfume faint and small,
If roses are lovely when just half seen,
When blown they are sweetest and best of all.
Time passes on, and they open too much;
Still the rich fragrance about them is shed;
Delicate petals fall off with a touch;
Happy and mourn'd for, the roses are dead!
And when we die (if death ever can be,
Life leaping in me, it sounds like a jest),
May it be thus with my Harry and me—
Love's latest perfume its sweetest and best.
He, whom I speak to, smiles into my face,
Crying, with kisses, that life would restore,
'All that you say has a feminine grace;
But hasn't Moore said something like it before?'
From the piano I draw forth a peal,
Greeting the sound with a smile and a sigh,
Singing 'The Last Rose of Summer,' I feel
That summer and roses can never die!
'Twas a beautiful evening, fresh and fair,
Earth sweeter far than impossible skies;
My heart beating light as a bird in air,
When Harry brought home with him Jack Devize.
Did no presentiment touch me that day?
Never a soupçon of evil or ill?
No, the world was bright with Harry away,
And when Harry came back it was brighter still.
The man stood there, and his shadow was laid
Straight at my feet by the sunset decrees;
I mark'd it well, and I was not afraid;
And when Harry nam'd him I smil'd with ease.
The roses poured out their exquisite scent,
Birds gave us the sweetest music they had,
And the little grasses daintily bent
In the tender breeze, as if they were glad.
Are there not angels to guard us and keep?
Are spirits not round us hidden from sight?
Oh! angels and spirits were all asleep,
Or they must have warn'd me that fatal night.
I have wak'd with the thought of an absent friend
(And others I know who have done the same),
And have felt 'ere I see the daylight's end,
Her letter must come—and her letter came.
I have run indoors with the happy thought
That something pleasant was going to be,
And—coincidence strange!—my eye has caught
The sight of the thing it desired to see.
I have felt a depression all the day,
A dullness for which I could not account,
And a flower has died—a dog run away—
Or a horse gone lame that I wish'd to mount.
And if from the regions of mysteries
Something can warn us of trifles like these;
How could it be I met Mr. Devize
With a smiling face and a heart at ease?
No dream at night, when by wonderful laws
The bodies are dead, the spirits alive;
No little heart—sinking without a cause
When the perfect sunshine made nature thrive;
No omen or signal, little or great,
Not a quicken'd pulse or a flutter'd breath;—
So Harry and I rush'd on to our fate,
And the unseen world was passive as Death.
We stroll'd through the gardens till dinner came,
The scented breezes were faultlessly sweet;
The sun went suddenly down in a flame,
While the birds their jubilant hymns repeat,
We chatted at dinner, and afterwards,
And the moments pleasantly slid away,
But when Mr. Devize suggested cards,
I laughingly told him I could not play.
The cards are produced; the men begin;
I sit by Harry and watch his hand;
I am very eager that he should win,
And when he does so, I feel very grand.
'Twas all very well for once you see;
Its novelty made it a thing to praise;
It