Would You Care?

All day on my pillow I wearily lay, With a stabbing pain at my heart, With throbbing temples, and a feverish thirst Burning, my lips apart. If I longed for a touch of your soft, strong hand, For you one little minute there; For a smile, or a kiss, or a word to bless, Would you blame me, love?--would you care?

When the long, long, lonesome day was done, And you never for a moment came, If I tried to shut you out of my heart, Impatient at your name; If disappointment's bitter sting Was harder than pain to bear, If I turned away with a doubting frown, Would you blame me, love?--would you care?

Should I die to-night, and you saw me not Again till my soul had fled With its vain request, and my features wore The white hue of the dead-- Would you place just once, in a last caress, Your hand on my death-damp hair? Would you give me a thought, or a fond regret? Would you kiss me, love?--would you care?

A THOUGHT OF HEAVEN.

Friend of my heart, you say to me That your belief is this-- The heaven is but a vision rare Of pure, ethereal bliss.

And life there but a dream enhanced, Where never sound alarms; Where flowers ne'er fade and skies ne'er cloud, And voiceless music charms--

And save as see we in our dreams The dear ones gone before, The friends that here we knew and loved, We'll know and love no more.

An endless and unbroken rest, Nor change, nor night, nor day, Where aimless, as in sleep, we'll dream Eternity away.

Sweet friend of mine, that Heaven of thine Methinks if overblest; We could not work on earth enough To need so long a rest.

Our human nature could not be Content with rest like this, And even bliss could cloy, if we Had nothing else but bliss.

Great Nature's hand, in every plan, Had laid in wise design, But what design, or use, is in This theory of thine?

If, when our earth-career is done, All conscious life must cease, And we drift on, and on, and on, In endless, dreamy peace--

If Heaven is but a mystic spell, Whose glowing visions thrall, Why should we have a life beyond? Why have a Heaven at all?

CONSOLANCE.

"Be brave?" why, yes, I will; I'll never more despair; Who could, with such sweet comforting as yours? How, like the voice that stilled the tempest air, Your mild philosophy its reasoning pours.

Go you and build a temple to the skies, and make Your soul an alter-offering on the pile; Then, from its lightning-riven ruin, take Your crushed and bleeding self, and calmly smile.

When loud, and fierce, and wild, a storm sweeps o'er your rest, Say that it soothes you--brings you peace again; Laugh while the hot steel quivers in your breast, And "make believe" you love the scorching pain.

See every earthly thing your life is woven round, Fall, drop by drop, until your heart is sieved! Go mad and writhe, and moan upon the ground, And curse, and die, and say that you have prayed and lived!

Then come to me, as now, and I will take your hand, And look upon your face and smile and say: "All were not born to hold a magic wand; Cheer up, my friend, you must be brave always."

WHEN THE ROSES GO.

You tell me you love me; you bid me believe That never such lover could mean to deceive. You tell me the tale which a million times Has been told, and talked, and sung in rhymes; You rave o'er my "eyes" and my "beautiful hair," And swear to be true, as they always swear; But the wrinkles will grow, and the roses go, And lovers are rovers oft, you know, When the roses go.

I have heard of a woman, sweet and fair, With dewy lips and shining hair, And you pledged to her, on your bended knee, The self-same vow you make to me. She was fairer than I, I know; She was pure and true, and she loved you so; But the wrinkles will grow and the roses go-- How she learned that trouble comes, you know, When the roses go.

You're a man in each outward sense, I trow, With the stamp of a god on your peerless brow. You hold my hand in your thrilling clasp, And my heart grows weak in your subtle grasp, Till I blush in the light of your tender eyes, And dream of a far-of paradise-- Almost forgetting that ever from there Another was turned in her bleak despair. But the wrinkles will grow, and the roses go-- I will answer you, love, my love, you know, When the roses go.

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THE DIFFERENCE.

With odds all against him, struggling to gain, From fortune a name, with life to maintain, Toiling in sunshine, toiling in rain, Never waiting a blessing Heaven-sent, Working and winning his way as he went-- Whether he starved, or sumptuously fared, Nobody knew and nobody cared.

With success-crowned effort that fate had defied, That wrought out from fortune what favor denied, Standing aloof from the world in his pride; The niche he has carved on fame's slippery wall Friends are proclaiming with heraldry-call. His Croesus-bright scepter has magical sway, Yester's indifference solicits to-day. His daring his triumph, how daily he fares, Every one knows, and anxiously cares.

BEWARE.

Beautiful maiden, So daintily fair, Thy rose-hued lips, Thy soft, flowing hair, Symmetric perfection, Sweet, winning face, The charms that thou wearest A palace might grace; And yet thy bright beauty May wreck and despair. Beautiful maiden, Beware! oh, beware!

There are flattering tongues That 'twere death to believe, And loves who woo But to win and deceive; For innocent feet There is many a snare. Beautiful maiden, Beware! oh, beware!

A REGRET.

Close on my heart was resting A sunny golden head, As the dim gray of the twilight Crept round with noiseless tread.

"Tell me a 'tory, mamma," The blue-eyed baby said, "About some itty birdie In za itty birdie bed.

"'Bout fen oo was itty An'ze mens was walkin' hay An' found free ittie birdies Wiz za muzzer don away."

"Some other time, my darling; Mamma's tired now." A shade of disappointment Swept over the baby's brow.

The dear blue eyes grew misty; O, lips that lived to blame, That kissed and whispered "sometime"-- That "sometime" never came.

Again, the dim, gray twilight Creeps round with noiseless tread, But on my heart is resting No sunny golden head.

No sweet voice pleads with mamma "Tell me a 'tory" now, And only death can take away The shadow on my brow.

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