I Love You, But A Sense Of Pain.

I love you, but a sense of pain Is in my heart and in my brain; Now, when your voice and eyes are kind, May I reveal my complex mind?

Though I am yours, it is my curse Some ideal passion to rehearse: I dream of one that's not like you, Never of one that's half so true.

To quell these yearnings, vague and wild, I often kneel by our dear child, In still, dark nights (you are asleep), And hold his hands, and try to weep.

I cannot weep; I cannot pray-- Why grow so pale, and turn away? Do you expect to hold me fast By pretty legends in the past?

It is a woman's province, then, To be content with what has been? To wear the wreath of withered flowers, That crowned her in the bridal hours?

Still, I am yours: this idle strife Stirs but the surface of my life: And if you would but ask once more, "How goes the heart?" or at the door

Imploring stand, and knock again, I might forget this sense of pain, And down oblivion's sullen stream Would float the memory of my dream!

NAMELESS PAIN.

I should be happy with my lot: A wife and mother--is it not Enough for me to be content? What other blessing could be sent?

A quiet house, and homely ways, That make each day like other days; I only see Time's shadow now Darken the hair on baby's brow!

No world's work ever comes to me, No beggar brings his misery; I have no power, no healing art With bruisèd soul or broken heart.

I read the poets of the age, 'Tis lotus-eating in a cage; I study Art, but Art is dead To one who clamors to be fed

With milk from Nature's rugged breast, Who longs for Labor's lusty rest. O foolish wish! I still should pine If any other lot were mine.

A BABY SONG.

Come, white angels, to baby and me; Touch his blue eyes with the image of sleep, In his surprise he will cease to weep; Hush, child, the angels are coming to thee!

Come, white doves, to baby and me; Softly whirr in the silent air, Flutter about his golden hair: Hark, child, the doves are cooing to thee!

Come, white lilies, to baby and me; Drowsily nod before his eyes, So full of wonder, so round and wise: Hist, child, the lily-bells tinkle for thee!

Come, white moon, to baby and me; Gently glide o'er the ocean of sleep, Silver the waves of its shadowy deep: Sleep, child, and the whitest of dreams to thee.

THE WIFE SPEAKS.

Husband, to-day could you and I behold The sun that brought us to our bridal morn Rising so splendid in the winter sky (We thought fair spring returned), when we were wed; Could the shades vanish from these fifteen years, Which stand like columns guarding the approach To that great temple of the double soul That is as one--would you turn back, my dear, And, for the sake of Love's mysterious dream, As old as Adam and as sweet as Eve, Take me, as I took you, and once more go Towards that goal which none of us have reached? Contesting battles which but prove a loss, The victor vanquished by the wounded one; Teaching each other sacrifice of self, True immolation to the marriage bond; Learning the joys of birth, the woe of death, Leaving in chaos all the hopes of life-- Heart-broken, yet with courage pressing on For fame and fortune, artists needing both? Or, would you rather--I will acquiesce-- Since we must choose what is, and are grown gray, Stay in life's desert, watch our setting sun, Calm as those statues in Egyptian sands, Hand clasping hand, with patience and with peace, Wait for a future which contains no past?

THE HUSBAND SPEAKS.

Dearest, though I have sung a many songs, Yet have I never sung one from my heart, Save to thee only--and such private songs Are as the silent, secret kiss of Love! My heart, I say, so sacred was, and is, I kept, I keep it, from all eyes but thine, Because it is no longer mine, but thine, Given thee forever, when I gave myself That winter morning--was it years ago? To me it seems the dream of yesterday! You have not lost the face I married then, Albeit a trifle paler--not to-night-- Nor I the eyes that saw then, and see still, What every man should see in her he weds! I wander ... wisely, let me, since my words Conceal what none but you and I should know,-- The love I bear you, who have been, and are Strong in the strength and weakness of your sex-- Queen of my household, mistress of my heart, My children's mother, and my always friend; In one word, Sweet, sweetest of all words--Wife!