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Title: Blue and Purple
Author: Francis Neilson
Release date: July 15, 2021 [eBook #65842]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024
Language: English
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 BLUE AND PURPLE ***
CONTENTS
BLUE AND PURPLE
SONGS TO A WIFE
BLUE AND PURPLE
FAR HORIZONS
HEBE’S EYES
SWEET FACE, I SEE THEE SHINE
TWO FLOWERS
THE MUSIC OF MY HEART
THE TRYST
NATURE’S LOVELINESS
YOU
THE LAST LIGHT
WHEN YOU WERE BORN
FORTUNE, YOU HAVE NAUGHT I NEED
LET US MAKE A GARDEN
SANCTUARY
STARS
REJUVENATION
A SONG
HEBE
SPRING
THE FAY
A SONG
THE GARDENER
REVELATION
THE KEEPER OF THE KISSES
MUSIC IN HADES
THE DREAM
THE BOON
JACK O’LANTERN
OH, TRANQUIL NIGHT
DESPAIR
TO A PHOTOGRAPH
SONG
HELL
ALONE
ROAMING
STORM
THE VOID
ABSENCE
WANDERING
DESTINY
EAST WIND
LULLABY
RESURRECTION
LAUGHTER
ALCHEMY
SURRENDER
WHAT IS DAY WITHOUT THE SUN?
THE MORN
THE GARDEN MADE FOR ME
TO A REPEATER
THE MUSIC OF A DREAM
A FLOWER
WHAT WOULD YOU DO?
HER SOUL’S SWEET HEART
I LOVE YOU SO!
LOVE’S LAST QUEST
CONSECRATION
BLUE AND PURPLE
FRANCIS NEILSON
NEW YORK: B. W. HUEBSCH
MCMXX
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
B. W. HUEBSCH
SONGS TO A WIFE
My love is beautiful and sweet; she is like a pale pink rose full of the glory of dew and sun. Sharon’s garden knows not a bloom so fair as she. Persia holds not a fragrance so heavenly in its perfumed bowers. Oh, my wondrous love, pour thy scented charm into the chalice of my longing heart; fill with thy fresh splendour the air I breathe; and give me youth to spend on thee, my well-beloved. I am the gardener, born to tend one flower. My flower is the radiance of a dawn in June. Like a veil of glowing pearls my love spreads her light; she is my morning, my joy of perfect hours. I will sing to her the song fresh roses raise from their delicious petals when night departs and they rejoice, sun-kissed, when all the east is rich in gold. Lovely is my bloom. Her soul is the first blossom given by Him who made the loveliness of Spring.
BLUE AND PURPLE
IN BLUE AND PURPLE CLAD
A pearl set in the hollow of a stone,
Wrought deftly by an artist of great skill;
A sapphire ’twas that bore the pearl so still
Within its bosom; taking from its tone
Wrought deftly by an artist of great skill;
A sapphire ’twas that bore the pearl so still
Within its bosom; taking from its tone
Those fires of deep delight to Asia known.
Blent in an amethyst, the priceless twain
Enthronèd were, o’er glowing worlds to reign,
In gladness richer than the morn has shown.
Blent in an amethyst, the priceless twain
Enthronèd were, o’er glowing worlds to reign,
In gladness richer than the morn has shown.
FAR HORIZONS
We stand upon the barren shore,
And look far out to sea,
The crooning waves their burden pour
On you and me.
And look far out to sea,
The crooning waves their burden pour
On you and me.
Our longing eyes, full of our mind,
On far horizons lie—
There, where our joy we hope to find
Before we die.
On far horizons lie—
There, where our joy we hope to find
Before we die.
How fair the tempting journey seems—
Smooth lake of mystery—
How frail the craft, our forethought deems,
For such a sea!
Smooth lake of mystery—
How frail the craft, our forethought deems,
For such a sea!
For you and me, my lovely one,
And all our mighty hopes;
One step, dear love, and we have done,
And—cut the ropes?
And all our mighty hopes;
One step, dear love, and we have done,
And—cut the ropes?
Lashed to the past we stand, and fear
To leave our ties and pain;
Though (speaks the soul, if we would hear)
Our loss is gain.
To leave our ties and pain;
Though (speaks the soul, if we would hear)
Our loss is gain.
Fear blurs the vision of our dream,
Fear fills our hearts with dread,
Soon we shall find upon life’s stream
Our souls are dead.
Fear fills our hearts with dread,
Soon we shall find upon life’s stream
Our souls are dead.
We stand upon the shore and mourn;
We grieve, despairingly,
To leave the fetters we have borne—
So patiently.
We grieve, despairingly,
To leave the fetters we have borne—
So patiently.
Or, do we grieve that we are weak,
Lack courage to be free,
And spurn the liberty we seek
For slavery?
Lack courage to be free,
And spurn the liberty we seek
For slavery?
Doubts lie—like pebbles on this strand—
In our sad souls, my mate.
Before us lies the promised land,
Behind us—fate.
In our sad souls, my mate.
Before us lies the promised land,
Behind us—fate.
HEBE’S EYES
SWEET FACE, I SEE THEE SHINE
Sweet face, I see thee shine
Out of the bosom of the east at morn;
Thy tenderness, divine,
Lies mirrored in the pearly dew at dawn.
Out of the bosom of the east at morn;
Thy tenderness, divine,
Lies mirrored in the pearly dew at dawn.
The flower that smiles at me,
Holds in its cup the picture of your face;
In rivulets I see
The flowing charm of your abiding grace.
Holds in its cup the picture of your face;
In rivulets I see
The flowing charm of your abiding grace.
The sapling tells me how
Your body’s symmetry grows strong and straight;
The winds which whisper now,
Tell me your love and trust will not abate.
Your body’s symmetry grows strong and straight;
The winds which whisper now,
Tell me your love and trust will not abate.
The steadfast stars above
Reflect the fervour of your constant mind,
Your deep unwav’ring love—
The rarest jewel eager man can find!
Reflect the fervour of your constant mind,
Your deep unwav’ring love—
The rarest jewel eager man can find!
TWO FLOWERS
THE MUSIC OF MY HEART
The soft night, like a silent child
Before some wondrous thing,
Withholds its breath, as if beguiled
By songs the fairies sing.
Before some wondrous thing,
Withholds its breath, as if beguiled
By songs the fairies sing.
It seems to stand and listen, still
As statue in a grove—
Perhaps it hears a fairy trill
A strain Titania wove.
As statue in a grove—
Perhaps it hears a fairy trill
A strain Titania wove.
Ah, no, the night hears not her song,
For it would then be glad;
And I have listened here so long,
I know the night is sad.
For it would then be glad;
And I have listened here so long,
I know the night is sad.
THE TRYST
My love is coming through green fields to me—
Why does she tarry so?
She knows I wait on cliffs above the sea,
And dare not to her go;
For I am prisoned to the spot where love
Has chained my feet, and must not call or move.
Why does she tarry so?
She knows I wait on cliffs above the sea,
And dare not to her go;
For I am prisoned to the spot where love
Has chained my feet, and must not call or move.
My love is gath’ring harebells, where the mead
Is starred with flowers to kiss
Her ling’ring feet; there sedges intercede,
And whisper runes of bliss—
Beseeching her to stay and heed me not—
For she can make a heaven of any spot!
Is starred with flowers to kiss
Her ling’ring feet; there sedges intercede,
And whisper runes of bliss—
Beseeching her to stay and heed me not—
For she can make a heaven of any spot!
My love is list’ning to the skylark’s song,
Delight is in her ears.
She cannot know her lover yearns so long,
And drinks his salty tears
To quench his thirst for all her winsome grace—
Her absence makes a desert of the place.
Delight is in her ears.
She cannot know her lover yearns so long,
And drinks his salty tears
To quench his thirst for all her winsome grace—
Her absence makes a desert of the place.
My love is drinking in the air which blows
The perfumes of the sea,
The journeying breeze wafts past me—well she knows—
Though me she cannot see!
The perfumes of the sea,
The journeying breeze wafts past me—well she knows—
Though me she cannot see!
Her lovely eyes, the yearning west would woo,
Look not on me while blooms in green fields sue.
Look not on me while blooms in green fields sue.
NATURE’S LOVELINESS
Yes, everywhere I go
I see the constant flow
Of nature’s loveliness—
But, oh, if I could see
These scenes, my love, with thee,
How bright would be their dress!
I see the constant flow
Of nature’s loveliness—
But, oh, if I could see
These scenes, my love, with thee,
How bright would be their dress!
I can no more rejoice
Without your gracious voice
Exulting in my ear,
And nature, too, requires
Your soulful, ardent fires,
To beautify the year.
Without your gracious voice
Exulting in my ear,
And nature, too, requires
Your soulful, ardent fires,
To beautify the year.
The tender blooms turn pale
When I, alone, through vale
And gully, searching pass;
They seem to say to me,
“Where is your mate? for we
Bloom only for your lass.”
When I, alone, through vale
And gully, searching pass;
They seem to say to me,
“Where is your mate? for we
Bloom only for your lass.”
My worship in the glen
Goes up for naught, dear, when
I stand alone in prayer;
The sea, the dunes, the trees,
Chide me, and every breeze
Sings lamentation there.
Goes up for naught, dear, when
I stand alone in prayer;
The sea, the dunes, the trees,
Chide me, and every breeze
Sings lamentation there.
No, nothing in this world
Where gales and snows have whirled
A joyous tempest down—
Which spread a carpet fine
For thee to tread, can shine
As your belovèd crown.
Where gales and snows have whirled
A joyous tempest down—
Which spread a carpet fine
For thee to tread, can shine
As your belovèd crown.
They do not envy you,
They love the sweet, the true—
They know you are sincere
As morning’s spark of light
In dew orbs shining bright,
When heaven is blue and clear.
They love the sweet, the true—
They know you are sincere
As morning’s spark of light
In dew orbs shining bright,
When heaven is blue and clear.
They want your merry laugh,
Like rain for them to quaff;
They want to kiss your feet;
They want to see your eyes—
Full glory of blue skies—
Your smile they yearn to greet.
Like rain for them to quaff;
They want to kiss your feet;
They want to see your eyes—
Full glory of blue skies—
Your smile they yearn to greet.
YOU
What is this mystery?
This subtle wonder—you?
Which fills my soul with ecstasy,
My eyes with dew?
What are you, influence, so mild?
As subtle as the air which sways
The stalwart pine. What child
Of nature are you?
Soul obeys your slightest motion.
Mind is set in deep commotion—
By your presence—
By your absence—
Being thrills beneath your glance!
A smile will all my thought enhance.
Touch my lips, and every bliss
Seeks heaven’s glory in a kiss!
You! sweet influence, what art
God used in fashioning you apart
From His renownèd mould,
In the marvellous days of old?
Why, all the elements combined
In making you
The dearest mystery refined,
The ages through!
Yet, what are you? with power
So great to bind my will,
Fast in strong chains each hour;
And every action fill
With echoes of one name,
Resounding in love’s hall of fame?
You! Unlike your kind—
An essence of God’s mind.
An attribute of His deep joy,
When in his toil of love
He fashioned you without alloy,
The masterpiece to prove,
With every splendid gift—replete.
You—complete!
My earth, sky, sea, and air;
My fruit, flower, jewel rare;
My every need of day and night—
Sun, moon, stars, space; my soul’s delight!
Your name whose syllables are wings
Which waft me high,
Above the fragrant air which brings
Faint eastern aromatics to the sky.
Ever a mystery of art to be,
A subtle influence subjecting me.
Like, fair Hamadryad, created anew—
Ineffable, mystical, wonderful—you!
This subtle wonder—you?
Which fills my soul with ecstasy,
My eyes with dew?
What are you, influence, so mild?
As subtle as the air which sways
The stalwart pine. What child
Of nature are you?
Soul obeys your slightest motion.
Mind is set in deep commotion—
By your presence—
By your absence—
Being thrills beneath your glance!
A smile will all my thought enhance.
Touch my lips, and every bliss
Seeks heaven’s glory in a kiss!
You! sweet influence, what art
God used in fashioning you apart
From His renownèd mould,
In the marvellous days of old?
Why, all the elements combined
In making you
The dearest mystery refined,
The ages through!
Yet, what are you? with power
So great to bind my will,
Fast in strong chains each hour;
And every action fill
With echoes of one name,
Resounding in love’s hall of fame?
You! Unlike your kind—
An essence of God’s mind.
An attribute of His deep joy,
When in his toil of love
He fashioned you without alloy,
The masterpiece to prove,
With every splendid gift—replete.
You—complete!
My earth, sky, sea, and air;
My fruit, flower, jewel rare;
My every need of day and night—
Sun, moon, stars, space; my soul’s delight!
Your name whose syllables are wings
Which waft me high,
Above the fragrant air which brings
Faint eastern aromatics to the sky.
Ever a mystery of art to be,
A subtle influence subjecting me.
Like, fair Hamadryad, created anew—
Ineffable, mystical, wonderful—you!
THE LAST LIGHT
WHEN YOU WERE BORN
Love stirred the spheres,
The groves rang mirth—
There were no tears—
At my love’s birth!
The groves rang mirth—
There were no tears—
At my love’s birth!
A dancing star
In revel flashed;
Then leaped afar—
And earthward dashed.
In revel flashed;
Then leaped afar—
And earthward dashed.
In bliss it showered
A million joys—
Sweet wishes flowered
In girls and boys.
A million joys—
Sweet wishes flowered
In girls and boys.
Then back it went,
With soaring dance,
And darkness rent
In merry prance.
With soaring dance,
And darkness rent
In merry prance.
A lark then flew
With joy on high—
With pearly dew—
Up to the sky.
With joy on high—
With pearly dew—
Up to the sky.
And gave its kiss
To its dear mate,
In flutt’ring bliss,
At heaven’s gate.
To its dear mate,
In flutt’ring bliss,
At heaven’s gate.
FORTUNE, YOU HAVE NAUGHT I NEED
Fortune, you have naught I need;
Fame cannot appease me;
Flowery beds grow but a weed;
Laughter cannot please me.
Lovely roses win no smile,
From my drooping spirit;
Larks a song may sing the while,
I will never hear it.
Music rich, on which I throve,
Leaves me worn and weary;
Softest tunes of vernal grove
Seem so trite and dreary.
I am hard to please, I know,
Nothing wins my pleasure;
Let the golden rivers flow,
I disdain their treasure.
Heaven itself may shine in vain,
It will cheer me never,
Let it glow, or blow, or rain,
Crack, and timbers sever.
Let me seek the fallow way,
Hating mirth and sorrow,
Wanting not this dreary day,
Give me bright tomorrow!
Day is dark as longest night,
Hours are without number;
Wakeful night in its slow flight,
Rids me of my slumber.
Weary, weary world, ah! me,
What is that I cry for?
Only love to come to me—
That is what I sigh for!
Only Hebe, lovely one,
She of loves the rarest—
Give me my beloved sun,
Light to me the fairest!
Fame cannot appease me;
Flowery beds grow but a weed;
Laughter cannot please me.
Lovely roses win no smile,
From my drooping spirit;
Larks a song may sing the while,
I will never hear it.
Music rich, on which I throve,
Leaves me worn and weary;
Softest tunes of vernal grove
Seem so trite and dreary.
I am hard to please, I know,
Nothing wins my pleasure;
Let the golden rivers flow,
I disdain their treasure.
Heaven itself may shine in vain,
It will cheer me never,
Let it glow, or blow, or rain,
Crack, and timbers sever.
Let me seek the fallow way,
Hating mirth and sorrow,
Wanting not this dreary day,
Give me bright tomorrow!
Day is dark as longest night,
Hours are without number;
Wakeful night in its slow flight,
Rids me of my slumber.
Weary, weary world, ah! me,
What is that I cry for?
Only love to come to me—
That is what I sigh for!
Only Hebe, lovely one,
She of loves the rarest—
Give me my beloved sun,
Light to me the fairest!
LET US MAKE A GARDEN
Come, let us make a garden, mate of mine,
A patch of rich brown earth the Spring will green;
I, with a spade and fork; you, with a line
And plan, will set it out for heaven’s bright sheen
A patch of rich brown earth the Spring will green;
I, with a spade and fork; you, with a line
And plan, will set it out for heaven’s bright sheen
To cover, when the warm days come again.
Come, now the snows are melting, and the soil
Is drinking down the draughts of winter’s pain;
Let us dig in our hopes with jocund toil!
Come, now the snows are melting, and the soil
Is drinking down the draughts of winter’s pain;
Let us dig in our hopes with jocund toil!
The smell of fresh-turned loam will give us strength,
The work will brace our souls for greater tasks;
Our plan will bring us days of happy length,
And take from us the tribute summer asks.
The work will brace our souls for greater tasks;
Our plan will bring us days of happy length,
And take from us the tribute summer asks.
Come, now the stubborn frost is yielding fast,
And bathe our bodies in the softer airs,
Which blow from kinder climes now winter’s past,
And sleet and hail are gone to their white lairs.
And bathe our bodies in the softer airs,
Which blow from kinder climes now winter’s past,
And sleet and hail are gone to their white lairs.
SANCTUARY
Where the peace of even lies,
And the low’ring purples rest,
Under amethystine skies,
Is the mystery of the West.
And the low’ring purples rest,
Under amethystine skies,
Is the mystery of the West.
In the colour-blending shroud
Of the glories of the heat,
Where the myriad tones of cloud
Glow and fade in their retreat,
Of the glories of the heat,
Where the myriad tones of cloud
Glow and fade in their retreat,
There the soul of peace lies still,
In the secret of the eve,
In the shadows of the hill,
Where the colours spin and weave
In the secret of the eve,
In the shadows of the hill,
Where the colours spin and weave
All the textures for the skies,
All the yearnings of the heart,
All the gleams in lovely eyes—
In the wonder-colour part
All the yearnings of the heart,
All the gleams in lovely eyes—
In the wonder-colour part
STARS
REJUVENATION
Are you the wondrous joy of Spring,
Sent coursing through the woods,
With chorals for the birds to sing,
And colors for the buds?
Sent coursing through the woods,
With chorals for the birds to sing,
And colors for the buds?
Or are you some supreme delight,
Which morn set free with mirth,
To carry gladness in your flight
All o’er the meads of earth?
Which morn set free with mirth,
To carry gladness in your flight
All o’er the meads of earth?
What are you, Hebe, nymph or maid?
You start Spring in my heart
With blooms that time can never fade—
Rejuvenating art.
You start Spring in my heart
With blooms that time can never fade—
Rejuvenating art.
What witchery, like Spring, is this
You hold o’er me, sweet one?
You set me glowing with a kiss
With warmth of summer sun.
You hold o’er me, sweet one?
You set me glowing with a kiss
With warmth of summer sun.
As winter thaws when spring comes in
With claims to warmth and growth,
So you from cold my soul doth win—
Pour in it best of both.
With claims to warmth and growth,
So you from cold my soul doth win—
Pour in it best of both.
I rise from dreary hours and smile
At sorrow when you call,
And thrill with youthful yearnings while
Your blisses on me fall.
At sorrow when you call,
And thrill with youthful yearnings while
Your blisses on me fall.
A SONG
I love her for her tenderness,
Her sweet abiding grace,
Her gentle spirit’s loveliness,
Her earnest, winsome face!
Her sweet abiding grace,
Her gentle spirit’s loveliness,
Her earnest, winsome face!
I love her for her happy ways,
Her body’s wondrous bloom,
Her smiles which light the heavy days,
And straight dispel my gloom!
Her body’s wondrous bloom,
Her smiles which light the heavy days,
And straight dispel my gloom!
I love her for her honest speech—
Her constant soul’s delight—
Her honeyed lips the gods would teach
To kiss their loves aright!
Her constant soul’s delight—
Her honeyed lips the gods would teach
To kiss their loves aright!
HEBE
Hebe is a mystery,
Moving in a woman’s guise,
Through a silent sacristy—
Holy as her lovely eyes.
Moving in a woman’s guise,
Through a silent sacristy—
Holy as her lovely eyes.
Hebe is a magnet strong,
Drawing strength from strength each day,
She is like a glorious song,
Growing sweeter in its sway;
Drawing strength from strength each day,
She is like a glorious song,
Growing sweeter in its sway;
Melting mind and heart at first,
Thrilling all the senses whole,
’Til in its melodic burst,
Leaps triumphant o’er the soul.
Thrilling all the senses whole,
’Til in its melodic burst,
Leaps triumphant o’er the soul.
Hebe is enchanting when
All the world seems most awry;
She smiles brightly o’er me, then
Earth is gone and heaven is nigh.
All the world seems most awry;
She smiles brightly o’er me, then
Earth is gone and heaven is nigh.
Hebe is both pro and con—
She is understanding’s own.
Was there ever paragon
Such as she to scholars known?
She is understanding’s own.
Was there ever paragon
Such as she to scholars known?
She is younger than her youth,
She is older than her race,
She is clearer than the truth,
Tender as her winsome face.
She is older than her race,
She is clearer than the truth,
Tender as her winsome face.
Nature’s contradiction she,
Turning science upside down;
She is Love’s own mystery,
From her heel up to her crown.
Turning science upside down;
She is Love’s own mystery,
From her heel up to her crown.
Hebe is all things of joy:
She is joy—joy was forgot
’Til she came, here to employ
Lover’s arts the Greeks knew not.
She is joy—joy was forgot
’Til she came, here to employ
Lover’s arts the Greeks knew not.
She is supple, strong, and sweet;
She is full of gentle mirth—
Happy are her splendid feet,
They are worthy of the earth.
She is full of gentle mirth—
Happy are her splendid feet,
They are worthy of the earth.
She is sportive as a child,
She is wise as she is kind,
With a temper firm yet mild,
She controls her earnest mind.
She is wise as she is kind,
With a temper firm yet mild,
She controls her earnest mind.
SPRING
Let us go
While Spring’s delicious breezes blow,
And see the dunes and sedges grow
Green, white, and red—
Now Winter’s sped—
And all the moorland is aglow.
While Spring’s delicious breezes blow,
And see the dunes and sedges grow
Green, white, and red—
Now Winter’s sped—
And all the moorland is aglow.
Let us feel
The magic breath of springtime steal
On us, and everywhere reveal
The joyous strife
Of bursting life,
And hear the bells of heaven peal.
The magic breath of springtime steal
On us, and everywhere reveal
The joyous strife
Of bursting life,
And hear the bells of heaven peal.
Let us see
The busy songsters’ ecstasy,
And hear them pipe their songs of glee—
For all the day
They seem to say,
The soul is happy that is free!
The busy songsters’ ecstasy,
And hear them pipe their songs of glee—
For all the day
They seem to say,
The soul is happy that is free!