The Project Gutenberg eBook of Blue And Purple, by Francis Nielson.

There is no anguish like the mourning heart,
That mourns for its lost love and mourns in vain;
That is the anguish which defies all pain—
Torture at which Prometheus’ soul would start!

What agony can still the heart of joy,
That holds its loved one to its surging breast?
All hell can rage and not disturb that rest—
Then Stygian tortures are but pain’s alloy!

And what is absence but a gaping sore,
That aches and suffers every stinging thrust?
A burning lesion, or a bleeding rent,
That rives the soul of lovers to the core?
When hearts in absence stronger grow, then must
Those hearts have held no lover’s aliment!

WANDERING

The morning hath the sun for mate,
The night the moon for wife;
The wind and I, like things of hate,
Go on alone through life.

The wind is cold, the wind is hot,
The wind is fierce and wild;
It stays not long in any spot,
It never is beguiled.

Perhaps the wind might pause awhile
And whisper to the reeds,
If they would only rise and smile,
And ask the lone wind’s needs.

DESTINY

Here, let it be! I will not ask,
Dear God, what is my destiny.
With courage I will face the task—
So, life, make what you will of me.

Yet I would know what is this pain,
Which smites with cruel force my mind?
And what can sorrow hope to gain
If woe is all my heart can find?

Why linger here? There must be rest
In some fair haven Thou hast made,
Or is the region of the blest
As vain a place as this? Then fade

Sweet hope! And let the clouds of night
Assemble o’er my weary head—
Why question more about the fight
Of souls that battle with the dead?

Still destiny may be some song
My aching heart might learn to sing,
A melody, both sweet and long,
And singing, heaven nearer bring!

Perhaps my doubts are shadows chill;
My mind may harbour questions vain.
My destiny! the merest rill
On ocean’s wide, unresting main.

Then Life and Death may count as past—
Things gone beneath the sodden clay.
For some great part, Thou, me might cast,
To light dejection’s gloomy day.

Yes, there is Love! Love ever bright,
Love worshipping the soul of her
Who came from thee—with morn’s first light—
Embodiment of all things fair.

This let me do. Take Death! Take Life!
And leave me Love’s celestial glow.
And save me from the toil and strife,
Which loveless souls are doomed to know.

EAST WIND

Speak, east wind, did you meet my love
When you came o’er the sea?
And did she give a message kind
For you to bring to me?

When you were passing through the haunts
Of happy, garish men,
Did you once linger in her hair,
And murmur to her then

A word, reminding her of one
Far out on western plains,
Who looks, and waits, from morn ’til night,
With hope that never wanes?

With hope that she will send some word—
One moment of her mind—
To prove that when we meet again
My true love I shall find?

No message, east wind, do you bring,
You leave me lone and cold,
Farewell, thou heartless wanderer,
Go, chilling young and old!

Go journeys long in search of hills
Where only echoes dwell,
Wild east wind, scorn the love-lorn ones,
Who would their sad tales tell.

LULLABY

Where is peace but on your breast?
Where does slumbering joy lie down?
Where do hope and gladness rest,
Like bright jewels in a crown?

All are found where your heart beats;
Like strong children in repose,
When the twilight hour retreats,
And day’s golden moments close!

Lull me, dearest, into sleep,
Let me find a pillow fair
On your breast, where breathings deep
Rock me, far away from care.

Kiss my aching brow, and then—
Lay your hands upon my head;
Peace will come to me again,
When your bosom is my bed.

RESURRECTION

When all my friends say “He is gone,”
And foes agree to let me rest,
When ling’ring night falls down upon
The heart that ached, the restless breast.

There is a way to conquer death,
To rob the grey shade of its spoil,
E’en when is spent my last deep breath
And naught is left of love and toil.

Then come, dear love, and look on me;
Pour your bright spirit in your glance;
My soul suffuse with joy of thee,
Straight from your eyes which do enhance

The light of heaven! One look will raise
Me from my bier, and make me whole,
Restoring youth and gladsome days—
Elixir of my yearning soul!

LAUGHTER

Dear love, when droop my weary eyes,
And patient Death comes near and cries:
“Tired soul, come forth, and follow me.”
I ask that thou, my love, shall be
Wrapped close to my desiring breast,
So at the last I shall be blest
With transports of thy laughter. Laugh
In my arms ecstatic glee,
And cheer my soul, and I shall quaff
Thy fragrant breath and smile at thee.
Dear heart of joy, let my last hour
Know all thy wondrous merry power—
Rich in the graces of thy charms,
Laugh on through each entrancing kiss;
When I am locked in thy dear arms
Laugh me away to Death in bliss.

ALCHEMY

I was ill, and with a touch
She reclaimed my waning strength.
Bless her, God, and give her much
Joy in love, and days of length.
What is tragic
Pain to me?
Such her magic—
Alchemy.
She smiled on me
When I was ill
And, lo!
From pain set free
I go
And drink my fill
At her beauty’s fountain flowing!
Oh, the bliss of breathing
Fragrance from her graces blowing;
Grace like colour seething,
From a thousand flowers,
Scenting June’s rich bowers.
I am well, and she has made
Every sorrow
Bring a morrow
Happier than today.
Every sadness is repaid
With rejoicing;
Like a voicing
Woodland in the month of May.
Merry is her soul,
And witty, too, her nimble mind—
Like a golden bowl
Of medicines of every kind.
Laughter lurks in all her dimples,
Loving hands of hers give simples—
Soothing, cheering, happy one—
Treasure of the golden sun!

SURRENDER

Take every joy my nature holds,
Take every bliss my heart enfolds;
Come, capture every one,
While youth and beauty run,
Locked in each other’s lithesome arms—
Like flowers entwined.
Cast from thy mind
Those fearful, hindering alarms.
Take, to the last deep drop,
Nor think when you would stop,
My strength’s rich wine.
Love made divine
The rapturous blood of me for you.
Red, full and bright,
Like Vallambrosa’s vineyard dew
On autumn’s night.
My mind explore, its treasures take,
So long as joy is there
To find, and leave it bare
Of every thought that might awake
New transports in your soul—
Then break the empty bowl,
So no one else may use
The vessel, should one choose.
My body clean and sweet enjoy,
’Twas made to serve your least delight,
And when at last our passions cloy,
In one fierce moment, rise and smite
With withering scorn,
And leave it shorn
Of all its energy and force.
Then, blasted, reel it down death’s course.
My soul? Nay, that, my love, you cannot hurt,
For it is thee. Look, and it will assert
Your image like a faithful stream,
Reflecting every feature of your form,
Showing the slightest, quickest gleam
From eyes which make it pass from cold to warm.
It is, O love, your heart, your pulse, your breath,
And only in your loss can it know death!
Here I surrender all my mind,
My heart, my body, all you find
In thought, in blood, in flesh, to serve thee well
In giving heaven—then, thou, consign to hell
Whate’er is left of me.
E’en then my joy shall be—
That it was wrecked by thee.

WHAT IS DAY WITHOUT THE SUN?

What is day without the sun?
The night without the stars?
Ocean’s music would not run,
Without the sandy bars!

Summer days without a rose—
A fruitless Autumn would
Make the year a time of woes—
Like Spring without a bud.

What am I without my mate?
Without her bonny face?
A wanderer disconsolate—
A being out of place.

She is sun and stars to me—
The Spring, and Summer too;
Autumn’s fruit her love will be,
To sweeten all I do!

THE MORN

She cometh like the sweet reprieving morn,
Clad in her flowing robes of golden light;
God’s angel of the day to clear the sight
Of him condemned long years, and left forlorn,
Deep in the dungeon of his loveless life,
With every yearning for a love supreme—
Love shining only in a cruel dream!
And now his love appears to end the strife.

Oh, love, thou gentle messenger, bend down,
Thy touch is soothing and thy smile is kind;
Speak to this sorrowing heart and bid its fears
Be gone forevermore. When as thy crown
Appears at dawn, and night flies on the wind,
So banish all my sorrows and their tears.

THE GARDEN MADE FOR ME

My love and I a garden made—
So early in the spring,
When larks begin to sing—
Frail violets a carpet laid,
Of tender blues, for my sweet maid,
When we were gardening.

I did not see the garden grow—
Fate turned me far astray,
Ere summer’s happy ray
The garden kissed, and all the glow
Of fragrant hours I did not know—
My summer’s days were grey.

I did not pick sweet blooms for her,
To make a crown to grace
Her head, and bonny face;
I wandered in a world so bare,
No flower of love perfumed the air,
No blossoms could I trace.

Some lovers sow, some lovers reap,
And others never see
The gardens that might be;
Still, though I might not reap, I keep,
In dreams of her, the mem’ry deep
Of gardens made for me.

TO A REPEATER

Tell me truly, quaint repeater,
When will she permit me greet her?
Tell me when you sweetly chime—
Name the day, and strike the time.

On my heart you beat so gaily,
Where her heart has beaten daily;
She should think of us at night,
When we two count hours in flight.

Quaint repeater, friend diurnal
(Like a truthful, faithful journal),
Make the minutes pass away,
Speed the night, and hasten day.

Do you keep the hours correctly?
Hands that move so circumspectly
Ought, punctiliously, to show
When a lad to lass should go.

Quaint repeater, faster, faster,
If you would avert disaster;
Make the long days swiftly fly,
Greeting hour is surely nigh.

How can I exist in anguish,
When for her I fret and languish?
Quaint repeater, may I rest,
Where you lay, upon her breast!

THE MUSIC OF A DREAM

A song lies buried in my soul,
Its melody is silent there,
The glory of it I would roll
In ecstasy, if thou would’st care
To hear its sweet enchanting strain,
In some deep garden where the hills
Would echo its subdued refrain,
Where fragrance every cloister fills,
Where flowery carpets spread, for thee,
Of velvet petals of the rose,
Is where the song will flow from me
Into the heart thy lover knows.
My precious love, my one delight,
Thou art more fair than that first dawn
Which made the new-born world so bright;
When primal dews spread o’er the lawn
And grass held jewels in its sheath,
Where earth’s first flowers were kissed by day.
More fair, art thou, than Ceres’ wreath
For tender maidens crowned with May.
A song for thee, and thee alone,
No other ear shall know its theme;
My eastern pearl of rarest tone,
It is the music of a dream;
A dream of gushing, surging love
From never-saving, endless springs,
Down deep, as heaven is high above;
Its course, as wide as Cosmos flings
The starry gems which light the skies,
When nightingales pour out their song;
As soft as joy in lover’s eyes,
In climes, where nights of love are long.

A FLOWER

In all this world you are to me
A flower, serene, alone;
A sight kind heaven lets me see
When I am deep in misery,
And hope of joy near flown.

You, like a bloom when woods are grey,
Arresting soul and mind,
With beauty bidding me to stay,
And worship you with prayer and lay,
And ease for sorrow find.

Oh, flower of perfect loveliness,
Oh, bloom of spring’s fair day,
What gentle joys do you impress
Upon my soul, with happiness
Which sweeps the clouds away!

WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

What would you do?
If you loved me,
As I love you.
If you in absence sad,
Longed for a moment’s joy—
My voice to make you glad—
Would you the time employ
In going to your lad?
And whisper: “Mine alone,
Yes, I am thine, my own;
In all this busy world—we two—
You live for me, and I for you.”

What would you do?
If you loved me,
As I love you.
If you were far away,
And hungered for a word,
Just one—to brighten day;
Some message for a bird
To carry, would you say?
“My lover, mine alone,
Yes, I am thine, my own;
In all this busy world—just two—
You live for me, and I for you.”

HER SOUL’S SWEET HEART

It is the heart within the soul of her
That shines, and sets her lily face aglow.
Turning to rosy blush the velvet snow,
To make the pearly morn look far less fair!
It is her soul’s sweet heart that makes her eyes
The envied of the stars, when glances bright
Mount up and gleam from her kind orbs at night,
And spread celestial fire across the skies!

No heart of flesh and blood could glorify
A form divine, and make so sweet a face
As that which smiles in pity from above—
Her spirit ’tis, which beats mysteriously,
And gives her every action heaven’s grace,
And wins my human heart to God-like love!

I LOVE YOU SO!

I love you so!
What sacrifice is meet
That I should make, my sweet,
That I might show
My love in some rich way,
To brighten all your day?
To keep from strife
Our years of love, dear wife?

I love you so!
My life is naught to me—
Of use to none but thee—
Oh, that you know!
Yet would its end once bring
You joy, how could I cling
To it, and bear
The thought it brought you care?

I love you so!
There is no death I fear
To save you pain, my dear.
For death I owe
To love, for your sweet grace!
Loved vision of your face
Rest in my eyes,
When death takes my last sighs.

I love you so!
My own, my precious mate,
I fear not any fate—
No pain, no woe—
So long as I may die
Beneath the smiling sky.
Your eyes for me
Make heaven’s canopy!

LOVE’S LAST QUEST

She came to me, a messenger of spring,
Borne on the wings of ecstasy, and joy
Flowed o’er me like a sunburst’s splendid ray.
My silent soul was moved again to sing,
My saddened mind was purged of its alloy—
She led me up from cheerless night to day.

She came, a vision of delights I dreamed
When all the world of wonder moved my heart;
She brought fair prospects to my fading sight,
And proved that life was dearer than it seemed;
She led me back to rosy realms of art—
She, sweet embodiment of art’s delight!

She came, and changed the purpose of the years;
With grace she gave long days of peace to me.
Her gift—the jewel of her love she gave,
A glory and a passion without peers;
As full of splendour as the orient sea,
Where pearls of heaven rest beneath the wave.

She came, and shed her gentle loveliness
Upon me, trembling ’neath her spell sublime,
And chose me for her loving mate; to know
Her worth, and find in her love’s happiness;
She came, and made a wondrous dream divine,
Her beauty and her rapture all aglow.

Blest vision of the dream youth sought in vain;
Sweet chalice, where commingled rest all aims;
Enchanting mystery of love’s last quest,
What can I offer thee that thou would’st deign
Commensurate (all that the world acclaims
Most precious things) with those rich gifts—the best—

The rarest love, thou didst bestow on me?
There’s naught in all the stores of earth to find
To give in just return—no star above!
Save what thou’st made—my own deep love for thee—
A heart and soul renewed, a richer mind—
My life’s devotion and a deathless love!