Introductory material (continued 3)

"Perhaps these times are better, Though I cannot think them so, But I am a poor old woman. And not supposed to know." And grandmother finished her musings With a meaning shake of the head Over nineteenth century folly. And sighed, and went to bed.

1872

LOVE'S EXTRAVAGANCE

Could I but measure my strength, by my love, Were I as strong, as my heart's love is true, I would pull down the stars, from the heavens above, And weave them all into a garland for you. And brighter, and better, your jewels should be Than any proud queen's, that e'r dwelt o'er the sea. Ay! richer and rarer, your gems, love, should be Than any rare jewels that come from the sea.

I would gather the beautiful, delicate green From the dress of the spring--with the heaven's soft blue, And never from east land, to west land were seen Such wonderful robes, as I'd fashion for you. And I'd snatch the bright rays of the sun in my hand And braid you a girdle, love, strand over strand. Ay! one by one, catch the bright rays in my hand And braid them, and twine them, all strand over strand.

I would gather the amber, the red and gold dyes, That glimmer and glow, in the autumn sunset, And weave you a mantle; and pull from the skies The rainbow to trim it. Ah Love! never yet Was any proud princess, from east to the west So peerlessly jeweled--so royally drest. Never daughter of princes, in east land or west, So decked in rare jewels, so gorgeously drest.

And I'd make you a vail, from the rare golden haze, Than Indian Summer spreads over the lea. And trim it with dew! Queens should envy and praise Your matchless apparel, ah darling, but see-- My strength is unequal to what I would do! I have only this little low cottage, for you. Nay! I can not accomplish the thing I would do, And I've only this cot and a warm heart for you.

1870

YOU WILL FORGET ME

You will forget me: the years are so tender-- They bind up the wounds which we think are so deep; This dream of our youth will fade out as the splendor Fades from the sky, when the sun sinks to sleep: The clouds of forgetfulness, over and over, Will banish the last rosy colors away; And th' fingers of Time will weave garlands to cover The scar which you think is a life-mark to-day.

You will forget me:--will thank me for saying The words which you think are so pointed with pain, Time loves a new lay; and the dirge he is playing Will change for you soon to a livelier strain. I shall pass from your life, I shall pass out forever, And the hours we have spent, will be sunk in the past. Youth buries its dead: grief kills seldom, or never, And forgetfulness covers all sorrows at last.

You will forget me; the one thing you covet Now, above all things will soon seem no prize: And the heart which is not in your keeping, to prove it True or untrue, will lose worth in your eyes. The one drop to-day, which you deem only wanting To make life a joy, will be lost in Time's stream; You will forget; and the ghost that is haunting The aisles of your heart will pass out with the dream.