Langley Lane 3177 LANGLEY LANE In all the land, range up, range down, Is there ever a place so pleasant and sweet, Just out of the bustle of square and street? And up above the still blue sky, Where the woolly white clouds go sailing by- For now, in summer, I take my chair, And sit outside in the sun, and hear And the swallows and sparrows chirping near; With her little hand's-touch so warm and kind, Fanny is sweet thirteen, and she Has fine black ringlets and dark eyes clear, And I am older by summers three, Why should we hold one another so dear? Because she cannot utter a word, Nor hear the music of bee or bird, The water-cart's splash or the milkman's call. Because I have never seen the sky, Nor the little singers that hum and fly,— For the sun is shining, the swallows fly, And I hear the water-cart go by, With its cool splash-splash down the dusty row; And the little one, close at my side, perceives Mine eyes upraised to the cottage eaves, Where birds are chirping in summer shine, When it stirs on my palm for the love of me? That I only hear as they pass around; And I am happy to keep God's sound. Why, I know her face, though I am blind- Strange large eyes and dark hair twined And hold her hand and talk in the sun, And hear the music that haunts the place, Though, if ever the Lord should grant me a prayer (I know the fancy is only vain), I should pray: Just once, when the weather is fair, Though Fanny, perhaps, would pray to hear The song of the birds, the hum of the street, It is better to be as we have been, Each keeping up something, unheard, unseen, To make God's heaven more strange and sweet! Ah, life is pleasant in Langley Lane! There is always something sweet to hear! Chirping of birds or patter of rain; And Fanny, my little one, always near; The Weakest Thing And though I am weakly and can't live long, 3179 And though we can never married be,- Robert Buchanan [1841-1901] THE WEAKEST THING WHICH is the weakest thing of all The cloud, a little wind can move Where'er it listeth? The wind, a little leaf above, What time that yellow leaf was green, My days were gladder; But now, whatever Spring may mean, Ah me! a leaf with sighs can wring My lips asunder? Then is mine heart the weakest thing Itself can ponder. Yet, Heart, when sun and cloud are pined And drop together, And at a blast which is not wind The forests wither, Thou, from the darkening deathly curse To glory breakest, The Strongest of the universe Guarding the weakest! Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] SONG We only ask for sunshine, We did not want the rain; But see the flowers that spring from showers We beg the gods for laughter, We shrink, we dread the tears; Alternate through the years. Helen Hay Whitney [18 THE HOUSE OF PAIN UNTO the Prison House of Pain none willingly repair— Reluctant linger there For Pleasure, passing by that door, stays not to cheer the sight, And Sympathy but muffles sound and banishes the light. Yet in the Prison House of Pain things full of beauty blow— Like Christmas roses, which attain Perfection 'mid the snow Love, entering in his mild warmth the darkest shadows melt, And often, where the hush is deep, the waft of wings is felt. Ah, me! the Prison House of Pain!-what lessons there are bought! Lessons of a sublimer strain Than any elsewhere taught Amid its loneliness and gloom, grave meanings grow more clear, For to no earthly dwelling-place seems God so strangely near! Florence Earle Coates [1850 "Multum Dilexit" WISE AN apple orchard smells like wine; A succory flower is blue; Until Grief touched these eyes of mine, Such things I never knew. And now indeed I know so plain So wise, so wise-that my tears fall That I do long to tell you all But you are dead and gone. Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856 3181 "MULTUM DILEXIT" SHE sat and wept beside His feet; the weight She sat and wept, and with her untressed hair And He wiped off the soiling of despair From her sweet soul, because she loved so much. I am a sinner, full of doubts and fears: Make me a humble thing of love and tears. Hartley Coleridge [1796-1849] |