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STRAY PEBBLES
FROM THE
Shores of Thought
BY
ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD
BOSTON
Press of T. O. Metcalf & Co.
1892
COPYRIGHT 1892
BY
ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD
CONTENTS.
Poems of Nature: PAGE To Walt Whitman 11 To Summer Hours 12 A True Vacation 13 A Question 14 To a Butterfly 16 In a Hammock 18 O rare, sweet summer day 20 An Old Man's Reverie 22 On Jefferson Hill 26 On Sugar Hill 28 At "Fairfield's," Wenham 29 Blossom-time 31 The Primrose 33 Joy, all Joy 35 Among the Pines 37 Conscious or Unconscious 39 Poems of Love: Love's How and Why 43 Love's Guerdon 44 A Birthday Greeting 45 Three Kisses 48 If I were only sure 50 Absence 52 A Love Song 53 In Her Garden 55 Love's Wish 56 Is there anything purer 58 Longing 60 Young Love's Message 61 A Diary's Secret 63 A Monologue 65 A Priceless Gift 66 The Ocean's Moan
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tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">67 Love's Flower 70 Renunciation 71 Love Discrowned 74 A Widow's Heart Cry 76 Together 78 Shadowed Circles 80 Miscellaneous Poems: A Song of Success 85 The Under World 87 She Knows 88 At Pittsford, Vermont 90 Childhood's Days 92 An Answer 94 Where, What, Whence 96 Heroes 98 A Magdalen's Easter Cry 100 For the Anniversary of Mrs. Browning's Death 103 Robert Browning 105 To Neptune, in behalf of S. C. G. 107 To the Pansies growing on the grave of A. S. D. 109 A Broken Heart 111 My Release 113 The god of music 115 To Wilhelm Gericke 118 For E. T. F. 1.—After the birth of her son 119 2.—Upon the death of her son 121 To C. H. F. 123 An Anniversary Poem 126 A Comfort 128 An Anniversary 129 To Miss Elizabeth P. Peabody 131 At Life's Setting 133 Grandma Waiting 136 Does it Pay 144 Auxilium ab Alto 145 Limitations
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href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@44973@[email protected]#Page_147" class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">147 The Muse of History 148 An Impromptu to G. H. T. 151 To Mrs. Partington 153 Lines for the Seventieth Birthday Anniversary of Walt Whitman 156 Sonnets: The Known God 161 To Phillips Brooks 163 At the "Porter Manse" 165 Our Lady of the Manse 167 To B. P. Shillaber 169 To Our Mary 171 A Birthday Remembrance 173 Josef Hofmann 175 After the Denial 177 Gethsemane 179 On Lake Memphremagog 181 Luke 23: 24 183 To Members of my Home Club 185 For my little Nephews and Nieces: Mamma's Lullaby 189 Warren's Song 190 Baby Mildred 192 Rosamond and Mildred 194 'Chilla 196 Childish Fancies 197 What little Bertram did 199 "Dear little Mac" 202 Willard and Florence on Mt. Wachusett 207 A little Brazilian 210 The little doubter 213 Our Kitty's Trick 217 A Message 220
POEMS OF NATURE.
TO WALT WHITMAN.
"I loafe and invite my soul."
And what do I feel?
An influx of life from the great central power
That generates beauty from seedling to flower.
And what do I feel?
An influx of life from the great central power
That generates beauty from seedling to flower.
"I loafe and invite my soul."
And what do I hear?
Original harmonies piercing the din
Of
And what do I hear?
Original harmonies piercing the din
Of
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measureless tragedy, sorrow, and sin.
"I loafe and invite my soul."
And what do I see?
The temple of God in the perfected man
Revealing the wisdom and end of earth's plan.
And what do I see?
The temple of God in the perfected man
Revealing the wisdom and end of earth's plan.
August, 1891.
TO SUMMER HOURS.
DAY.
Trip lightly, joyous hours,
While Day her heart reveals.
Such wealth from secret bowers
King Time himself ne'er steals.
O joy, King Time ne'er steals!
While Day her heart reveals.
Such wealth from secret bowers
King Time himself ne'er steals.
O joy, King Time ne'er steals!
NIGHT.
Breathe gently, tireless hours,
While Night in beauty sleeps.
Hold back e'en softest showers,—
Enough that mortal weeps.
Ah me, that my heart weeps!
While Night in beauty sleeps.
Hold back e'en softest showers,—
Enough that mortal weeps.
Ah me, that my heart weeps!
A TRUE VACATION.
IN A HAMMOCK.
"Cradled thus and wind caressed,"
Under the trees,
(Oh what ease.)
Nature full of joyous greeting;
Dancing, singing, naught secreting,
Ever glorious thoughts repeating—
Pause, O Time,
I'm satisfied!
Now all life
Is glorified!
Under the trees,
(Oh what ease.)
Nature full of joyous greeting;
Dancing, singing, naught secreting,
Ever glorious thoughts repeating—
Pause, O Time,
I'm satisfied!
Now all life
Is glorified!
Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass.
A QUESTION.
Is life a farce?
Tell me, O breeze,
Bearing the perfume of flowers and trees,
While gaily decked birds
Pour forth their gladness in songs beyond words,
And cloudlets coquette in the fresh summer air
Rejoicing in everything being so fair—
Is life a farce?
Tell me, O breeze,
Bearing the perfume of flowers and trees,
While gaily decked birds
Pour forth their gladness in songs beyond words,
And cloudlets coquette in the fresh summer air
Rejoicing in everything being so fair—
Is life a farce?
How can it be, child,
When Nature at heart
Is but the great spirit of love and of art
Eternally saying, "I must God impart."
When Nature at heart
Is but the great spirit of love and of art
Eternally saying, "I must God impart."
Is life a farce?
Tell me, O soul,
Struggling to act out humanity's whole
'Midst Error and Wrong,
And failure in sight of true victory's song;
With Wisdom and Virtue at times lost to view,
And love for the many lost in love for the few—
Is life a farce?
Tell me, O soul,
Struggling to act out humanity's whole
'Midst Error and Wrong,
And failure in sight of true victory's song;
With Wisdom and Virtue at times lost to view,
And love for the many lost in love for the few—
Is life a farce?
How can it be, child,
When humanity's heart
Is but the great spirit of love and of art
Eternally crying, "I must God impart."
When humanity's heart
Is but the great spirit of love and of art
Eternally crying, "I must God impart."
TO A BUTTERFLY.
O butterfly, now prancing
Through the air,
So glad to share
The freedom of new living,
Come, tell me my heart's seeking.
Shall I too know
After earth's throe
Full freedom of my being?
Shall I, as you,
Through law as true,
Know life of fuller meaning?
Through the air,
So glad to share
The freedom of new living,
Come, tell me my heart's seeking.
Shall I too know
After earth's throe
Full freedom of my being?
Shall I, as you,
Through law as true,
Know life of fuller meaning?
O happy creature, dancing,
Is time too short
With pleasure fraught
For you to heed my seeking?
Is time too short
With pleasure fraught
For you to heed my seeking?
Ah, well, you've left me thinking:
If here on earth
A second birth
Can so transform a being,
Why may not I
In worlds on high
Be changed beyond earth's dreaming?
If here on earth
A second birth
Can so transform a being,
Why may not I
In worlds on high
Be changed beyond earth's dreaming?
IN A HAMMOCK.
The rustling leaves above me,
The breezes sighing round me,
A network glimpse of bluest sky
To meet the upturned seeing eye,
The greenest lawn beneath me,
Loved flowers and birds to greet me,
A well-kept house of ancient days
To tell of human nature's ways,—
Oh happy, happy hour!
The breezes sighing round me,
A network glimpse of bluest sky
To meet the upturned seeing eye,
The greenest lawn beneath me,
Loved flowers and birds to greet me,
A well-kept house of ancient days
To tell of human nature's ways,—
Oh happy, happy hour!
Whence comes all this to bless me,
The soft wind to caress me,
The life which does my strength renew
For purer visions of the true?
Alas! no one can tell me.
But, hush! let Nature lead me.
Let even wisest questions cease
While I breathe in such life and peace
This happy, happy hour.
The soft wind to caress me,
The life which does my strength renew
For purer visions of the true?
Alas! no one can tell me.
But, hush! let Nature lead me.
Let even wisest questions cease
While I breathe in such life and peace
This happy, happy hour.
Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass.
O RARE, SWEET SUMMER DAY.
"The day is placid in its going,
To a lingering motion bound,
Like a river in its flowing—
Can there be a softer sound?"
To a lingering motion bound,
Like a river in its flowing—
Can there be a softer sound?"
—Wordsworth.
O rare, sweet summer day,
Could'st thou not longer stay?
The soothing, whispering wind's caress
Was bliss to weary brain,
The songs of birds had power to bless
As in fair childhood's reign.
Could'st thou not longer stay?
The soothing, whispering wind's caress
Was bliss to weary brain,
The songs of birds had power to bless
As in fair childhood's reign.
The tinted clouds were free from showers,
The sky was wondrous clear,
The precious incense of rare flowers
Made sweet the
The sky was wondrous clear,
The precious incense of rare flowers
Made sweet the
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atmosphere;
The shimmering haze of mid-day hour
Was balm to restlessness,
While thought of silent hidden power
Was strength for helplessness—
O rare, sweet summer day,
Could'st thou not longer stay?
The shimmering haze of mid-day hour
Was balm to restlessness,
While thought of silent hidden power
Was strength for helplessness—
O rare, sweet summer day,
Could'st thou not longer stay?
Porter Manse.
AN OLD MAN'S REVERIE.
Blow breezes, fresh breezes, on Love's swiftest wing,
And bear her the message my heart dares to sing.
Pause not on the highways where gathers earth's dust,
Nor in the fair heavens, though cloudlets say must.
But blow through the valleys where flowers await
To give of their essence ere yielding to fate;
Or blow on the hill tops where atmospheres lie
Imbued with the health which no money can buy.
But fail not, O breezes, on Love's swiftest wing
To bear her the message my heart dares to sing.
And bear her the message my heart dares to sing.
Pause not on the highways where gathers earth's dust,
Nor in the fair heavens, though cloudlets say must.
But blow through the valleys where flowers await
To give of their essence ere yielding to fate;
Or blow on the hill tops where atmospheres lie
Imbued with the health which no money can buy.
But fail not, O breezes, on Love's swiftest wing
To bear her the message my heart dares to sing.
The breezes, thus ladened, sped on in their flight,
As, cradled in hammock, I sang in delight,
On that blest summer day in the years long ago,
When life was all sunshine and youth all aglow.
The sweets of the valleys, the breath of the hills
Were gathered—the best that our loved earth distills—
As, obedient still to my wish, on they flew
To the home of my darling they now so well knew.
As, cradled in hammock, I sang in delight,
On that blest summer day in the years long ago,
When life was all sunshine and youth all aglow.
The sweets of the valleys, the breath of the hills
Were gathered—the best that our loved earth distills—
As, obedient still to my wish, on they flew
To the home of my darling they now so well knew.
******
Alas for the breezes, alas for my heart,
Alas for my message, so full of love's art!
If only the breezes had followed their will,
And loitered among the pure cloudlets so still,
They'd have met a fair soul from the earth just set free
In search of their help for its message to me;
The message my darling, with last fleeting breath,
In vain tried to utter, o'ertaken by death.
Alas for my message, so full of love's art!
If only the breezes had followed their will,
And loitered among the pure cloudlets so still,
They'd have met a fair soul from the earth just set free
In search of their help for its message to me;
The message my darling, with last fleeting breath,
In vain tried to utter, o'ertaken by death.
The breezes, fresh breezes, have blown on since then,
With messages laden again and again.
As for me, I send none. I wait only their will
To bring me that message my lone heart to fill.
They'll find it some day in a light zephyr chase,
For nothing is lost in pure love's boundless space.
With messages laden again and again.
As for me, I send none. I wait only their will
To bring me that message my lone heart to fill.
They'll find it some day in a light zephyr chase,
For nothing is lost in pure love's boundless space.
ON JEFFERSON HILL.
(BEFORE THE PRESIDENTIAL RANGE.)
The sovereign mountains bask in sunset rays,
The valleys rest in peace;
The lingering clouds melt into twilight haze,
The birds their warbling cease;
The villagers' hour of welcome sleep is near,
The cattle wander home,
While wrapped in summer-scented atmosphere,
Calm evening comes to roam
With gentle pace
Through star-lit space,
Till moon-kissed Night holds all in her embrace,
And Morning waits to show her dawn-flushed face.
The valleys rest in peace;
The lingering clouds melt into twilight haze,
The birds their warbling cease;
The villagers' hour of welcome sleep is near,
The cattle wander home,
While wrapped in summer-scented atmosphere,
Calm evening comes to roam
With gentle pace
Through star-lit space,
Till moon-kissed Night holds all in her embrace,
And Morning waits to show her dawn-flushed face.
ON SUGAR HILL.
TO F. B. F.
The lovely valleys nestling in the arms
Of glorious mountain peaks;
The purple tint of sunset hour, and charms
The evening hour bespeaks;
The monarch peak kissed by the rising sun,
While clouds keep guard below;
Grand, restful views, with foliage autumn-won,
And Northern lights rare glow,—
Will e'er recall,
In memory's hall,
The happy days when on fair "Look-Off's" height,
Sweet friendship cast her hues of golden light.
Of glorious mountain peaks;
The purple tint of sunset hour, and charms
The evening hour bespeaks;
The monarch peak kissed by the rising sun,
While clouds keep guard below;
Grand, restful views, with foliage autumn-won,
And Northern lights rare glow,—
Will e'er recall,
In memory's hall,
The happy days when on fair "Look-Off's" height,
Sweet friendship cast her hues of golden light.
Hotel Look-Off, September, 1891.
AT FAIRFIELDSA, WENHAM.
June, 1890.
Buttercups and daisies,
Clover red and white,
Ferns and crown-topped grasses
Waving with delight,
Dainty locust-blossoms,
All that glad June yields,
Welcome me with gladness
To dearly-loved "Fairfields."
But where's my happy collie dog,
My Rosa?
Clover red and white,
Ferns and crown-topped grasses
Waving with delight,
Dainty locust-blossoms,
All that glad June yields,
Welcome me with gladness
To dearly-loved "Fairfields."
But where's my happy collie dog,
My Rosa?
The orioles sing greeting,
The butterflies come near,
The hens cease not their cackling,
The horses neigh "I'm here,"
The cows nod "I have missed you,"
The pigs' eyes even shine,
And from the red-house hearth-stone
Comes pet cat Valentine.
But where's my happy collie dog,
My Rosa?
The butterflies come near,
The hens cease not their cackling,
The horses neigh "I'm here,"
The cows nod "I have missed you,"
The pigs' eyes even shine,
And from the red-house hearth-stone
Comes pet cat Valentine.
But where's my happy collie dog,
My Rosa?
I miss her joyful greeting,
Her handsome, high-bred face,
Her vigorous, playful action
In many a fair field chase.
Not even lively Sancho
Can fill for me her place.
Her handsome, high-bred face,
Her vigorous, playful action
In many a fair field chase.
Not even lively Sancho
Can fill for me her place.
O Rosa, happy Rosa,
Gone where the good dogs go,
Dost find such fields as "Fairfields,"
More love than we could show?
Gone where the good dogs go,
Dost find such fields as "Fairfields,"
More love than we could show?
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href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@44973@[email protected]#FNanchor_A" class="fnanchor pginternal" id="Footnote_A" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">A "Fairfields" is but another name for "Porter Manse."
BLOSSOM-TIME.
Blossoms floating through the air,
Bearing perfumes rich and rare,
Free from trouble, toil, and care.
Would I were a blossom!
Bearing perfumes rich and rare,
Free from trouble, toil, and care.
Would I were a blossom!
Robins singing in the trees,
Feeling every velvet breeze,
Free from knowledge that bereaves.
Would I were a robin!
Feeling every velvet breeze,
Free from knowledge that bereaves.
Would I were a robin!
Violets peaceful in the vale,
Telling each its happy tale,
Free from worldly noise and sale.
Would I were a violet!
Telling each its happy tale,
Free from worldly noise and sale.
Would I were a violet!
Blessed day of needed wealth,
Full of Nature's perfect health,
Fill me with thy power.
Full of Nature's perfect health,
Fill me with thy power.
Then like blossoms I shall be,
Wafting only purity,
Or like robins, singing free
'Midst the deepening mystery,
Or like violets, caring naught
Only to reflect God's thought."
Wafting only purity,
Or like robins, singing free
'Midst the deepening mystery,
Or like violets, caring naught
Only to reflect God's thought."
Porter Manse.
THE PRIMROSE.
Who tells you, sweet primrose, 'tis time to wake up
After dreaming all day?
Who changes so quickly your sombre green dress
To the yellow one gay,
And makes you the pet of the twilight's caress,
And of poet's sweet lay?
Who does, primrose, pray?
After dreaming all day?
Who changes so quickly your sombre green dress
To the yellow one gay,
And makes you the pet of the twilight's caress,
And of poet's sweet lay?
Who does, primrose, pray?
The primrose, secure on his emerald throne,
Looked up quickly to say,
"A dear lovely fairy glides down from his throne
In the sun's golden ray,
And with a sweet kiss opens wide all our eyes,
Saying, 'Now is your day.'
And lo! when he's gone we are filled with surprise
At our wondrous array,
So fresh and so gay.
Do tell us the name of this fairy, I pray,
Who gives of his beauty, and then hies away
Without thanks, without pay.
Does he linger your way?"
Looked up quickly to say,
"A dear lovely fairy glides down from his throne
In the sun's golden ray,
And with a sweet kiss opens wide all our eyes,
Saying, 'Now is your day.'
And lo! when he's gone we are filled with surprise
At our wondrous array,
So fresh and so gay.
Do tell us the name of this fairy, I pray,
Who gives of his beauty, and then hies away
Without thanks, without pay.
Does he linger your way?"
JOY, ALL JOY.
Lying on the new-mown hay, in a sightly field,
On a summer day,
With no care to weigh,
Or a bitter thought to stay all that sense might yield—
What a joy to have alway!
On a summer day,
With no care to weigh,
Or a bitter thought to stay all that sense might yield—
What a joy to have alway!
Sky as blue as blue can be, perfect green all round,
Birdlings on the wing
Ere they pause to sing
On the top of bush or tree, or on sweet hay-mound—
Restful joy in everything!
Birdlings on the wing
Ere they pause to sing
On the top of bush or tree, or on sweet hay-mound—
Restful joy in everything!
Butterflies just come to light, proud of freedom's hour,
Cows in pastures near,
Wondering why I'm here,
Chipmunks now and then in sight, bees in clover-flower—
Added joy when these appear!
Cows in pastures near,
Wondering why I'm here,
Chipmunks now and then in sight, bees in clover-flower—
Added joy when these appear!
Happy children far and near climbing loads of hay,
Running here and there.
Farmer's work to share,
Skipping, shouting loud and clear, full of daring play—
Children's joy! Joy everywhere!
Running here and there.
Farmer's work to share,
Skipping, shouting loud and clear, full of daring play—
Children's joy! Joy everywhere!