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Title: A spray of lilac, and other poems and songs
Author: M. Hedderwick-Browne
Release date: July 21, 2022 [eBook #68579]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024
Language: English
Original publication: United Kingdom: Isbister and Company Limited, 1892
Credits: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SPRAY OF LILAC, AND OTHER POEMS AND SONGS ***
A Spray of Lilac
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson and Co.
London and Edinburgh
A Spray
of Lilac
And Other Poems and Songs
BY
MARIE HEDDERWICK BROWNE
LONDON
ISBISTER AND COMPANY Limited
15 & 16 TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN
1892
Oh, lilac bloom! strange that so slight a thing
As thou is strong to roll away the stone
From memory’s grave, and set the dead past free
To claim again brief kinship with its own.
As thou is strong to roll away the stone
From memory’s grave, and set the dead past free
To claim again brief kinship with its own.
PREFATORY NOTE
Most of the Poems contained in this volume have appeared during the past ten years, in “Atalanta,” “Chambers’s Journal,” “London Society,” “Little Folks,” “The Girl’s Own Paper,” and other serials.
If an apology for venturing to offer them to the public in collected form be deemed necessary, I can only urge the plea of the poor but hospitable Dervish, “He is a generous host who freely giveth his best, be his best but clear water and a crust.”
M. H. B.
London, December 1892
CONTENTS
A SPRAY OF LILAC
Pale cluster, thy faint perfume comes to me
Laden with memories of long ago,
And all the present dims as o’er my soul
The waves of tender recollection flow.
Laden with memories of long ago,
And all the present dims as o’er my soul
The waves of tender recollection flow.
With Spring’s young blood again my veins are thrilled,
My hands are stretched to meet the coming years,
The world holds all the glory that it held
Ere yet mine eyes had looked on it thro’ tears.
My hands are stretched to meet the coming years,
The world holds all the glory that it held
Ere yet mine eyes had looked on it thro’ tears.
With deftest fingers fancy weaves once more
Her fairy fabrics; vast horizons glow
With fires of promise, for behind their veils
They hid rich treasures in that long-ago.
Her fairy fabrics; vast horizons glow
With fires of promise, for behind their veils
They hid rich treasures in that long-ago.
The subtle sweetness of the vanished days,
The rapture of the old ecstatic bliss,
All, all are mine, as once again I cling
To ripe warm lips in love’s first passion-kiss.
The rapture of the old ecstatic bliss,
All, all are mine, as once again I cling
To ripe warm lips in love’s first passion-kiss.
The long delicious Summer slowly weaves
For Autumn’s brows a crown of living gold;
Sad Winter follows with his winding-sheet,
For all the glory has grown grey and old.
For Autumn’s brows a crown of living gold;
Sad Winter follows with his winding-sheet,
For all the glory has grown grey and old.
IN AN OLD GARDEN
Yellow roses, purple pansies,
Tufts of heavy-headed stocks;
Either side the quaint old gateway
Blazing, torch-like hollyhocks.
Tufts of heavy-headed stocks;
Either side the quaint old gateway
Blazing, torch-like hollyhocks.
Sweet peas tossing airy banners,
Saintly lilies bending low,
Daisies, powdering all the green sward
With a shower of summer snow.
Saintly lilies bending low,
Daisies, powdering all the green sward
With a shower of summer snow.
Boxwood borders—yews fantastic—
Wallflowers that with every sigh
Spill such scent that e’en the brown bees,
Reel with rapture wandering by.
Wallflowers that with every sigh
Spill such scent that e’en the brown bees,
Reel with rapture wandering by.
And the pear trees, long arms stretching
O’er the sunny gable wall,
Scarce can hold their ruddy nurslings
Ripening where the warm beams fall.
O’er the sunny gable wall,
Scarce can hold their ruddy nurslings
Ripening where the warm beams fall.
Oh, the ecstasy of living!
How it thrills my life to-day!
I can almost hear the flower-bells
Tinkle where my footsteps stray!
How it thrills my life to-day!
I can almost hear the flower-bells
Tinkle where my footsteps stray!
A MOTHER’S GRIEF
To a great wide city all alone,
Long, long ago went our baby queen—
No name but hers on the white headstone,
That gleams to the moon from its mound of green!
None of her own did welcome her there—
Not a grain of kindred dust doth wave
In the flowers that out of the tears of despair
Have arched a rainbow over her grave.
Long, long ago went our baby queen—
No name but hers on the white headstone,
That gleams to the moon from its mound of green!
None of her own did welcome her there—
Not a grain of kindred dust doth wave
In the flowers that out of the tears of despair
Have arched a rainbow over her grave.
Out from the shelter of loving arms,
Out from the warmth of a mother’s breast,
Heedless of darkness and night’s alarms,
On to the silent city she pressed
To take her place ’mong the mighty throng
That people its myriad streets. Ah, me!
I felt my God had done me a wrong,
When He loosened love’s cords and set her free!
Out from the warmth of a mother’s breast,
Heedless of darkness and night’s alarms,
On to the silent city she pressed
To take her place ’mong the mighty throng
That people its myriad streets. Ah, me!
I felt my God had done me a wrong,
When He loosened love’s cords and set her free!
And my passionate moan that broke in tears,
Like a burdened wave on a desert shore,
Seemed all too feeble to reach His ears
And the pain grew old that my bosom bore;
But the faith that I once had thought mine own
Rose up to mock where it could not save,
And my heart grew hard as the carven stone
That was crushing my darling in her grave.
Like a burdened wave on a desert shore,
Seemed all too feeble to reach His ears
And the pain grew old that my bosom bore;
But the faith that I once had thought mine own
Rose up to mock where it could not save,
And my heart grew hard as the carven stone
That was crushing my darling in her grave.
Whenever a child’s sweet flower-like face
Met mine, a sickness would o’er me creep,
And I’d turn wild eyes to the lonely place
Where she was lying alone—asleep.
At strife was I with the world, and God
Had drawn around Him an angry cloud;
Earth held no green but the churchyard sod,
And the daisies wore the gleam of a shroud.
Met mine, a sickness would o’er me creep,
And I’d turn wild eyes to the lonely place
Where she was lying alone—asleep.
At strife was I with the world, and God
Had drawn around Him an angry cloud;
Earth held no green but the churchyard sod,
And the daisies wore the gleam of a shroud.
But a time there came when about my breast
With a wand’ring touch small fingers stole,
And feeble lips to its fountains pressed,
And stirred with a vague sweet joy my soul;
And the floodgates opened, and blessèd tears
Of repentance fell from my eyes like rain,
And after the barren and prayerless years
I knelt to the Giver of All again!
With a wand’ring touch small fingers stole,
And feeble lips to its fountains pressed,
And stirred with a vague sweet joy my soul;
And the floodgates opened, and blessèd tears
Of repentance fell from my eyes like rain,
And after the barren and prayerless years
I knelt to the Giver of All again!
A SUMMER MEMORY
I remember an evening,
An evening in one far June,
The sun seemed loth to leave the sky
To a young impatient moon.
An evening in one far June,
The sun seemed loth to leave the sky
To a young impatient moon.
The yellow sands lay waiting
For the sea’s long cool embrace;
We watched the ripples breaking,
Like smiles upon its face.
For the sea’s long cool embrace;
We watched the ripples breaking,
Like smiles upon its face.
The green trees nestled closer
To the broad breast of the hill;
The twilight’s glamour gathered,
And the day was with us still.
To the broad breast of the hill;
The twilight’s glamour gathered,
And the day was with us still.
And a sadness born of beauty,
And a joy to pain akin,
Touched all that lay without us,
And hushed my soul within.
And a joy to pain akin,
Touched all that lay without us,
And hushed my soul within.
A silence stepped between us,
We seemed to stand apart;
Yet I thought your eyes grew tender,
And I know what filled my heart.
We seemed to stand apart;
Yet I thought your eyes grew tender,
And I know what filled my heart.
But the words were never spoken;
And the distance wider grew,
Till the world of waves was lying
Between me, love, and you,
And the distance wider grew,
Till the world of waves was lying
Between me, love, and you,
No bridge might ever cross it.
I watched you turn away,
And I went back to duty—
’Tis all a woman may.
I watched you turn away,
And I went back to duty—
’Tis all a woman may.
UNSATISFIED
Oh, “dear dead days” that dearer grow,
I look behind, and thro’ my tears,
Across a wide, wide gulf of years,
I see you now and now I know.
I look behind, and thro’ my tears,
Across a wide, wide gulf of years,
I see you now and now I know.
When I was yours, you mine, alas!
I did not know your real worth,
And, longing for the future’s birth,
Found time so slow, so slow to pass.
I did not know your real worth,
And, longing for the future’s birth,
Found time so slow, so slow to pass.
The joys I hoped for never came,
While those I held slipped from my clasp,
As I stretched yearning hands to grasp
Shadows—’tis evermore the same!
While those I held slipped from my clasp,
As I stretched yearning hands to grasp
Shadows—’tis evermore the same!
MY SONG
“When love is mine,” said I, “I’ll make a song
In praise of love that maketh life so sweet;
One worthy such a grand and noble theme—
Worthy to lay at my belovèd’s feet.
In praise of love that maketh life so sweet;
One worthy such a grand and noble theme—
Worthy to lay at my belovèd’s feet.
“Pure, perfect pearls of poesy I’ll string
On Music’s silken thread, so rhythmic-sweet
That those who hear shall feel as though each word
Were but an echo of my heart’s warm beat.”
On Music’s silken thread, so rhythmic-sweet
That those who hear shall feel as though each word
Were but an echo of my heart’s warm beat.”
Now love is mine; but where my boasted song?
My heart is full—too full, ah me! for words;
And yet methinks my new-found joy has lent
Fresh rapture to the voices of the birds.
My heart is full—too full, ah me! for words;
And yet methinks my new-found joy has lent
Fresh rapture to the voices of the birds.
IN AN OLD CHURCHYARD
In one of England’s sweetest spots,
A little old grey church I found;
Around it lies—dear restful ground!
God’s garden with its sacred plots.
A little old grey church I found;
Around it lies—dear restful ground!
God’s garden with its sacred plots.
With myriad arms the ivy holds
Its time-worn walls in close embrace:
So Memory sometimes keeps a face
Half-veiled in tender misty folds.
Its time-worn walls in close embrace:
So Memory sometimes keeps a face
Half-veiled in tender misty folds.
With sleepy twitter and with song
The tower, bird-haunted, is alive;
In leafy seas they dip and dive,
Those tiny warblers all day long.
The tower, bird-haunted, is alive;
In leafy seas they dip and dive,
Those tiny warblers all day long.
Like sentinels grown hoar with age,
The crumbling headstones guard the graves
Which softly swell—green voiceless waves
That will not break though tempests rage.
The crumbling headstones guard the graves
Which softly swell—green voiceless waves
That will not break though tempests rage.
“Concerning them that are asleep”
In this sweet hamlet of the dead,
In broken sentences I read
The record those old tablets keep;
In this sweet hamlet of the dead,
In broken sentences I read
The record those old tablets keep;
Each told its tale, for hath not Grief
A voice whose echoes never die?
Adown the ages, Rachel’s cry
Still rings o’er some God-garnered sheaf.
A voice whose echoes never die?
Adown the ages, Rachel’s cry
Still rings o’er some God-garnered sheaf.
SECRETS
July roses wet with rain
Tap against the window-pane;
There is something they would seek,
Had they voices and could speak.
Silence seals their crimson lips,
And the dull rain drops and drips.
Tap against the window-pane;
There is something they would seek,
Had they voices and could speak.
Silence seals their crimson lips,
And the dull rain drops and drips.
Th’ other side the streaming glass
Stands a little sad-eyed lass;
There is something she would seek,
But a maiden may not speak—
Silence seals her longing lips,
And the dull rain drops and drips.
Stands a little sad-eyed lass;
There is something she would seek,
But a maiden may not speak—
Silence seals her longing lips,
And the dull rain drops and drips.
REVEALED—NOT SPOKEN
The little maiden that I love,
I met in yonder lane;
A flood of sunshine seemed to fall
Around her as she came.
I met in yonder lane;
A flood of sunshine seemed to fall
Around her as she came.
Methought the very hedgerows took
A tenderer, livelier green,
And blossoms burst from every bud
As she passed on between!
A tenderer, livelier green,
And blossoms burst from every bud
As she passed on between!
And gladder, madder, merrier notes
A skylark round him threw,
As high above her golden head,
He poised amid the blue.
A skylark round him threw,
As high above her golden head,
He poised amid the blue.
I meant to tell her all my heart,
And yet—I know not why,
Upon the threshold of my lips
The story seemed to die.
And yet—I know not why,
Upon the threshold of my lips
The story seemed to die.
It might have been the witchery,
The magic of her smile,
That in a spell held all my soul,
And kept me dumb the while!
The magic of her smile,
That in a spell held all my soul,
And kept me dumb the while!
It might have been that all too pure
For earth-born love seemed she;
From her white height of maidenhood
How could she stoop to me?
For earth-born love seemed she;
From her white height of maidenhood
How could she stoop to me?
But eyes can prove more eloquent,
And though the tongue may fail,
In potent language they reveal
The old, old tender tale.
And though the tongue may fail,
In potent language they reveal
The old, old tender tale.
For, placing her slim hand in mine,
Methought I heard my name
So softly, murmurously breathed,
I scarce knew whence it came!
Methought I heard my name
So softly, murmurously breathed,
I scarce knew whence it came!
No need for words between us now;
A subtle sweetness stole
Through all our being, and we felt
That soul had answered soul.
A subtle sweetness stole
Through all our being, and we felt
That soul had answered soul.
BURIED TREASURES
’Tis true my later years are blest
With all that riches can bestow,
But there is wealth, wealth cannot buy,
Hid in the mines of “Long Ago.”
With all that riches can bestow,
But there is wealth, wealth cannot buy,
Hid in the mines of “Long Ago.”
There jealous guard does Memory keep;
Yet sometimes, when I dream alone,
She comes and takes my hand in hers,
And shows me what was once my own.
Yet sometimes, when I dream alone,
She comes and takes my hand in hers,
And shows me what was once my own.
I revel ’mong such precious things;
I count my treasures o’er and o’er;
I learn the worth of some, whose worth,
Ah me! I never knew before.
I count my treasures o’er and o’er;
I learn the worth of some, whose worth,
Ah me! I never knew before.
AFFINITY
But little converse have we held,
Our hands have scarcely ever met,
With just a formal word or two
You come and go; and yet—and yet—
I have a dream we two were one
Ere garb of flesh these spirits wore;
The soul that speaks within your eyes
Tells mine they’ve met and loved before.
Our hands have scarcely ever met,
With just a formal word or two
You come and go; and yet—and yet—
I have a dream we two were one
Ere garb of flesh these spirits wore;
The soul that speaks within your eyes
Tells mine they’ve met and loved before.
“MY HOUSE IS LEFT UNTO ME DESOLATE”
A little while, you say, a little while,
And I shall be where my belovèd are;
And with your eyes aglow with faith, you say,
“Thy dear ones have not journeyed very far.”
And I shall be where my belovèd are;
And with your eyes aglow with faith, you say,
“Thy dear ones have not journeyed very far.”
“Not very far.” I say it o’er and o’er,
Till on mine ear mine own voice strangely falls,
Like some mechanic utterance that repeats
A meaningless refrain to empty walls.
Till on mine ear mine own voice strangely falls,
Like some mechanic utterance that repeats
A meaningless refrain to empty walls.
“Not very far;” but measured by my grief,
A distance measureless as my despair.
When from the dreams that give them back to me,
I wake to find that they have journeyed there!
A distance measureless as my despair.
When from the dreams that give them back to me,
I wake to find that they have journeyed there!
AN OLD MAN’S DREAM
With idle hands and misty eyes,
I sit alone to-night and dream;
Upon the hearth, like elfin sprites,
The red flames dance, and twist, and gleam.
I sit alone to-night and dream;
Upon the hearth, like elfin sprites,
The red flames dance, and twist, and gleam.
A dimness gathers in my room,
The pictured faces on the wall
Pale, and o’er each familiar thing
A strangeness slowly seems to fall.
The pictured faces on the wall
Pale, and o’er each familiar thing
A strangeness slowly seems to fall.
With noiseless step there comes to me,
One whom I loved in days gone by.
The same is she, unchanged by time—
Unchanged—but oh, how changed am I!
One whom I loved in days gone by.
The same is she, unchanged by time—
Unchanged—but oh, how changed am I!
Her hair, which long, long years ago
Was like spun threads of living gold,
Still clusters round a brow that wears
Immortal youth—and I am old.
Was like spun threads of living gold,
Still clusters round a brow that wears
Immortal youth—and I am old.
No look of recognition lights
Her eyes, that meet mine o’er and o’er;
And yet she loved me once—and love,
I know, is love for evermore.
Her eyes, that meet mine o’er and o’er;
And yet she loved me once—and love,
I know, is love for evermore.
She looks around in anxious quest;
I think I know for whom she seeks.
She only sees a strange old man,
With snow-white hair and wrinkled cheeks.
I think I know for whom she seeks.
She only sees a strange old man,
With snow-white hair and wrinkled cheeks.
And then like wings of birds that preen
For flight, a soft stir moves the air,
It is the whisper of her gown—
She goes to look for me elsewhere.
For flight, a soft stir moves the air,
It is the whisper of her gown—
She goes to look for me elsewhere.