Muse and Mint :: SENTIMENT

SENTIMENT

Walter Seymour Percy

A CORONATION

Dear, on thy brow I set a crown,

Invisible yet rare;

Not jewelled gold, which burdens down

With royalty and care.

I bring thee nothing but my love

And what my hands can win,

And yet I crown thee, dear, above

A kingdom’s proudest queen.

I kiss each gleaming tress of thine

Coiled lightly round thy head,

And woman’s glory grows divine

With love’s aurora shed.

If thou canst but forget the rest,

The gems I cannot bring,

This jewel doth become thee best

To me, thy lover-king.

Dear, in my soul thou hast a throne

All white and heavengold,

And on thy brow I set a crown

That doth my heart infold.

I’LL BE WATCHING ON THE SHORE

She kissed me when we parted,—

I to sail the stormy main,

She to keep the little cottage

Snug until I come again;

And well do I remember

What she promised o’er and o’er:—

“When you come sailing from the ocean

I’ll be watching on the shore!”

So I was a jolly skipper,

Coiling rope or reefing sail;

Many a distant port I entered,

Many a homebound ship did hail.

If I sent or got a message,

Always it the promise bore:—

“When you come sailing from the ocean

I’ll be watching on the shore!”

Death came yawning in the tempest;

Wild and high the spindrift flew,

And from dizzy deck and masthead

Oft I thought my hour was due;

Till her dear prophetic promise

Sang above the billows’ roar:—

“When you come sailing from the ocean

I’ll be watching on the shore!”

But alas! One time I harbored

She was sleeping white and still

Where the ivy made a trellis

Of the lookout on the hill;

And the cold engraven marble

Yet the farewell promise bore:—

“When you come sailing from the ocean

I’ll be watching on the shore!”

I GIVE THEE MY PROMISE

I give thee my promise, sweetheart,

With thy dear lips to mine,

That nothing shall keep from us

The sealing of this sign;

As o’er the world I wander

By hope of fortune sped,

My heart will grow the fonder

For thy promise me to wed.

I give thee the token, sweetheart,

Whose circle on thy hand

God grant may ne’er be broken,

However far the land!

For where it pleaseth Heaven

To lead my errant feet,

This little token given

Will keep the promise sweet.

I give thee the keeping, sweetheart,

Of my own heart that pleads

For love’s immediate reaping

And with the parting bleeds;

But I with arms that hold thee

Must labor for thee, too;

And so I fast enfold thee

And bid thee, love, adieu!

CHAMBERED ROSES

Over in Dolorosa Hall,

Romantic memories breathing,

There’s a quaint old room with flowered wall

Of roses interwreathing,

The key on golden chain I wear

To guard the sacred chamber,

For as a bride demure and fair

My sainted Mary came there.

’Twas her dear self arranged it so

And helped to match the roses,

As she, alas, the ones which grow

O’er walls where she reposes.

I nurture these, the others seal

For subtler necromancy

Where Mary’s loving roses steal

Around the room of fancy.

They ramble from each corner to

The border o’er the moulding

And on in buds and tendrils through

The ceiling’s faded golding.

No hand shall ever tear them down

With cheap artistic violence,

For Mary wreathed the roses on,

Still fragrant with her silence.

TWO FRAMES

In the gallery of remembrance

Down on Unforgotten Street

Hangs a picture of two lovers

After they the vows repeat;

Lovely—handsome—picture—lovers—

Golden-framed against the wall,

Love in rich and stately setting—

Revenue and manor-hall.

And beside it hangs another,

Limned again with lovers’ pose,

Just as lovely on the canvas

Till the golden in it glows;

But ’tis framed in white enamel

Whereon lilies intertwine—

Love in sweet and simple setting—

Virtue and a cottage-vine.

Love-in-woman stands before them

With reflected gold and grace

But with struggling decision

On her dew-and-flower face;

Eyes are drawn to frame of yellow,

Heart to canvas set in white:

Rich man, poor man? Love-in-woman

Chose and lilies turned to light.

PARS SUMMAE

I did not think that love was mine

Because I toiled;

But if I caught its every line

And not despoiled

More perfect love to grace my own,

Then might I feel

That I at love’s supremest throne

Could rightly kneel.

I veiled my face when glory shed

Its trembling light;

Nor would I lift my humbled head

Till I as white

Could show the pureness of a soul

That doth reveal

Love which before the sacred whole

Can rightly kneel.

My altar was her blessing-place

Whence she bestowed

The gifts divinely of her grace

On worship bowed;

For as my adoration rose

To love’s ideal

She lifted me as one of those

Who rightly kneel.

A VISION

Tall and fair and azure-eyed,

Covert glances ’neath the drooping lash

Like Cupid’s arrows in an artful quiver—

She is this and much beside,

Which to tell in detail would be rash

By any but the beggar to the giver.

If I gathered, if she gave,

I could put it better into art,

By countless little charming things elated—

Silken tresses in a wave,

Cheek with stolen pigment from the heart,

And mouth the most inviting e’er created.

Still I’m short of total truth

Just to feature forth her lovely face

Wreathed in rebel-locked or coiffured limbus;

Yet the highest charm of youth

Is the soft inimitable grace

That bathes a woman with a glowing nimbus.

And this my goddess hath improved

By every feminine instinct of taste,

And still the deeper charm of spiritism—

Which, if it were the soul and loved

Some kindred soul in this world of love-waste,

Would laugh at every selfish catechism

Of worldly wisdom and its creed

And tremble to the fate which love revealed,

Flushed at its glimpse of Paradise, delirious

That life was not all craft and greed

But underneath its shallows half-concealed

Lay passion grand, transfiguring, imperious!

THE AFTERMATH

Lovers making foolish vows,

Thinking love is deathless

When ’tis fiercest to espouse

What it sings so breathless;

Now caressing, now confessing

In romantic stanza—

Such is passion and its fashion

Of extravaganza.

But the love that’s worth a throne

Is the kind that later

More than sentiment alone

Proves and heavens greater

Than a frenzy of the fancy

Or a creed of nature,

Or the praises in fine phrases

Of a charming creature.

Oh, the happy aftermath

When the mating’s over

And ordeals of life and death

Teach the whilom lover

That the woman, though for human

Charms he did enshrine her,

Is the essence of a presence

Sweeter and diviner!

PROOF-WORDS

There was a face—I loved it;

There was a pulse—I felt it;

There was a soul—I sensed it

And made it mine for aye.

There was a heart—I proved it;

There was a word—I spelt it;

Yet scarcely had commenced it

When called from dreams away.

There was a hope—I wreathed it;

There was a prayer—I sped it;

There was a seal—I gave it,

Then bade my love adieu.

There was a sigh—I breathed it;

There was a tear—I shed it;

There was a gift—I save it

To know my love is true.

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