Verse > Anthologies > Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. > An American Anthology, 1787–1900
  PREVIOUS NEXT  
CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908).  An American Anthology, 1787–1900.  1900.
 
1172. From “The Inverted Torch”
 
By Edith Matilda Thomas
 
 
WHEN IN THE FIRST GREAT HOUR

WHEN in the first great hour of sleep supreme
I saw my Dearest fair and tranquil lie,
Swift ran through all my soul this wonder-cry:
“How hast thou met and vanquished hate extreme!”
For by thy faint white smiling thou didst seem,        5
Sweet Magnanimity! to half defy,
Half pity, those ill things thou hadst put by,
That are the haunters of our life’s dim dream.
Pain, error, grief, and fear—poor shadows all—
I, to thy triumph caught, saw fail and fade.        10
 
Yet as some muser, when the embers fall,
The low lamp flickers out, starts up dismayed,
So I awoke, to find me still Time’s thrall,
Time’s sport,—nor by thy warm, safe presence stayed.
 
TELL ME

TELL me, is there sovereign cure
        15
  For heart-ache, heart-ache,—
Cordial quick and potion sure,
  For heart-ache, heart-ache?
 
Fret thou not. If all else fail
  For heart-ache, heart-ache,        20
One thing surely will avail,—
  That ’s heart-break, heart-break!
 
IF STILL THEY LIVE

IF still they live, whom touch nor sight
  Nor any subtlest sense can prove,
Though dwelling past our day and night,        25
  At farthest star’s remove,—
 
Oh, not because these skies they change
  For upper deeps of sky unknown,
Shall that which made them ours grow strange,
  For spirit holds its own;        30
 
Whether it pace this earth around,
  Or cross, with printless, buoyant feet,
The unreverberant Profound
  That hath no name nor mete!
 
WILL IT BE SO?

OFT have I wakened ere the spring of day,
        35
And, from my window looking forth, have found
All dim and strange the long-familiar ground.
But soon I saw the mist glide slow away,
And leave the hills in wonted green array,
While from the stream-sides and the fields around        40
Rose many a pensive day-entreating sound,
And the deep-breasted woodlands seemed to pray.
Will it be even so when first we wake
Beyond the Night in which are merged all nights,—
The soul sleep-heavy and forlorn will ache,        45
Deeming herself midst alien sounds and sights?
Then will the gradual Day with comfort break
Along the old deeps of being, the old heights?
 

CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
  PREVIOUS NEXT  
 
Loading
Click here to shop the Bartleby Bookstore.

Shakespeare · Bible · Strunk · Anatomy · Nonfiction · Quotations · Reference · Fiction · Poetry
© 1993–2014 Bartleby.com · [Top 150] · Subjects · Titles · Authors