Poems - William Dean Howells

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I. Red roses, in the slender vases burning, Breathed all upon the air,–– The passion and the tenderness and yearning, The waiting and the doubting and despair. II. Still with the music of her voice was haunted, Through all its charméd rhymes, The open book of such a one as chanted The things he dreamed in old, old summer-times. III. The silvern chords of the piano trembled Still with the music wrung From them; the silence of the room dissembled The closes of the songs that she had sung. IV. The languor of the crimson shawl’s abasement,–– Lying without a stir 14 Upon the floor,––the absence at the casement, The solitude and hush were full of her. V. Without, and going from the room, and never Departing, did depart Her steps; and one that came too late forever Felt them go heavy o’er his broken heart. VI. And, sitting in the house’s desolation, He could not bear the gloom, The vanishing encounter and evasion Of things that were and were not in the room. VII. Through midnight streets he followed fleeting visions Of faces and of forms; He heard old tendernesses and derisions Amid the sobs and cries of midnight storms. VIII. By midnight lamps, and from the darkness under That lamps made at their feet, He saw sweet eyes peer out in innocent wonder, And sadly follow after him down the street. 15 IX. The noonday crowds their restlessness obtruded Between him and his quest; At unseen corners jostled and eluded, Against his hand her silken robes were pressed. X. Doors closed upon her; out of garret casements He knew she looked at him; In splendid mansions and in squalid basements, Upon the walls he saw her shadow swim. XI. From rapid carriages she gleamed upon him, Whirling away from sight; From all the hopelessness of search she won him Back to the dull and lonesome house at night. XII. Full early into dark the twilights saddened Within its closéd doors; The echoes, with the clock’s monotony maddened, Leaped loud in welcome from the hollow floors; XIII. But gusts that blew all day with solemn laughter From wide-mouthed chimney-places, 16 And the strange noises between roof and rafter, The wainscot clamor, and the scampering races XIV. Of mice that chased each other through the chambers, And up and down the stair, And rioted among the ashen embers, And left their frolic footprints everywhere,–– XV. Were hushed to hear his heavy tread ascending The broad steps, one by one, And toward the solitary chamber tending, Where the dim phantom of his hope alone XVI. Rose up to meet him, with his growing nearer, Eager for his embrace, And moved, and melted into the white mirror, And stared at him with his own haggard face. XVII. But, turning, he was ’ware her looks beheld him Out of the mirror white; And at the window yearning arms she held him, Out of the vague and sombre fold of night. 17 XVIII. Sometimes she stood behind him, looking over His shoulder as he read; Sometimes he felt her shadowy presence hover Above his dreamful sleep, beside his bed; XIX. And rising from his sleep, her shadowy presence Followed his light descent Of the long stair; her shadowy evanescence Through all the whispering rooms before him went. XX. Upon the earthy draught of cellars blowing His shivering lamp-flame blue, Amid the damp and chill, he felt her flowing Around him from the doors he entered through. XXI. The spiders wove their webs upon the ceiling; The bat clung to the wall; The dry leaves through the open transom stealing, Skated and danced adown the empty hall. XXII. About him closed the utter desolation, About him closed the gloom; 18 The vanishing encounter and evasion Of things that were and were not in the room XXIII. Vexed him forever; and his life forever Immured and desolate, Beating itself, with desperate endeavor, But bruised itself, against the round of fate. XXIV. The roses, in their slender vases burning, Were quenchéd long before; A dust was on the rhymes of love and yearning; The shawl was like a shroud upon the floor. XXV. Her music from the thrilling chords had perished; The stillness was not moved With memories of cadences long cherished, The closes of the songs that she had loved. XXVI. But not the less he felt her presence never Out of the room depart; Over the threshold, not the less, forever He felt her going on his broken heart.

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      “Das Vergnügen ist Nichts als ein höchst angenehmer Schmerz.”––Heinrich Heine.

I. Full of beautiful blossoms Stood the tree in early May: Came a chilly gale from the sunset, And blew the blossoms away; Scattered them through the garden, Tossed them into the mere: The sad tree moaned and shuddered, “Alas! the Fall is here.” But all through the glowing summer The blossomless tree throve fair, And the fruit waxed ripe and mellow, With sunny rain and air; And when the dim October With golden death was crowned, Under its heavy branches The tree stooped to the ground. 20 In youth there comes a west-wind Blowing our bloom away,–– A chilly breath of Autumn Out of the lips of May. We bear the ripe fruit after,–– Ah, me! for the thought of pain!–– We know the sweetness and beauty And the heart-bloom never again. II. One sails away to sea, One stands on the shore and cries; The ship goes down the world, and the light On the sullen water dies. The whispering shell is mute, And after is evil cheer: She shall stand on the shore and cry in vain, Many and many a year. But the stately, wide-winged ship Lies wrecked on the unknown deep; Far under, dead in his coral bed, The lover lies asleep. 21 III. Through the silent streets of the city, In the night’s unbusy noon, Up and down in the pallor Of the languid summer moon, I wander, and think of the village, And the house in the maple-gloom, And the porch with the honeysuckles And the sweet-brier all abloom. My soul is sick with the fragrance Of the dewy sweet-brier’s breath: O darling! the house is empty, And lonesomer than death! If I call, no one will answer; If I knock, no one will come: The feet are at rest forever, And the lips are cold and dumb. The summer moon is shining So wan and large and still, And the weary dead are sleeping In the graveyard under the hill. 22 IV. We looked at the wide, white circle Around the Autumn moon, And talked of the change of weather: It would rain, to-morrow, or soon. And the rain came on the morrow, And beat the dying leaves From the shuddering boughs of the maples Into the flooded eaves. The clouds wept out their sorrow; But in my heart the tears

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