Ada Cambridge

"On board the Petrel, in St.
Lucia's bay,
Of yellow fever—aged twenty-nine." "Who did you say, my lady?" drawled the Earl. "The duke—what duke?"
"I did not speak of dukes," Replied the…

Good-bye! — 'tis like a churchyard bell — good-bye!
Poor weeping eyes!  Poor head, bowed down with woe!
Kiss me again, dear love, before you go.
Ah, me, how fast the precious moments fly!

An old house, crumbling half away, all barnacled and lichen-grown,
Of saddest, mellowest, softest grey,—with a grand history of its own— Grand with the work and strife and tears of more than half a thousand years.
Such delicate, tender,…

Earth, outward tuning on her path in space
This pensive southern face,
Swathing its smile and shine In that soft veil that day and darkness twine,
The silver-threaded twilight thin and fine

Bright eyes, sweet lips, with many fevers fill The young blood, running wildly, as it must;
But lips and eyes beget a strange distrust.
Electric fingers send the sudden thrill Through senses unsubservient to the will;
The flames…

Numb, half asleep, and dazed with whirl of wheels,
And gasp of steam, and measured clank of chains,
I heard a blithe voice break a sudden pause,
Ringing familiarly through the lamp-lit night, "Wife, here's your…

And is the great cause lost beyond recall?
Have all the hopes of ages come to naught?
Is life no more with noble meaning fraught?
Is life but death, and love its funeral pall?

See those resplendent creatures, as they glide O'er scarlet carpet, between footmen tall,
From sumptuous carriage to effulgent hall— A dazzling vision in their pomp and pride!
See that choice supper—needless—cast aside— Though worth a…

Ye, that the untrod paths have braved,
With heart and brain unbound;
Who ask not that your souls be saved,
But that the Truth be found;

Through jewelled windows in the walls
The tender daylight smiles;
Majestic music swells and falls
Adown the stately aisles;

Me let the world disparage and despise — As one unfettered with its gilded chains,
As one untempted by its sordid gains,
Its pleasant vice, its profitable lies;
Let Justice, blind and halt and maimed, chastise The rebel spirit…

How calm the spangled city spread below!
How cool the night!
How fair the starry skies!
How sweet the dewy breezes!

Alone!
Alone!
No beacon, far or near!
No chart, no compass, and no anchor stay!

As an April garden Breathes the scent of rain— Rain that calls her treasures Back to life again— So my spirit quickens to the opening strain.
In its sheath of darkness Fancy's folded wing Thrills and stirs and quivers To another…

The sun has set; grey shadows darken slowly
The rose-red cloud-hills that were bathed in light O Lord, to Thee, with spirit meek and lowly,
I kneel in prayer to-night.
I thank Thee for my "

It boots not to retrace the path
To ages dim and hoar,
When Man, at the domestic hearth,
First learned the art of war

And must I wear a silken life,
Hemmed in by city walls?
And must I give my garden up
For theatres and balls?

Through the wild night, the silence and the dark,
Through league on league of the uncharted sky,
Lonelier than dove of fable from its ark,
The fieldfares fly.

Each day another soldier in the van,
Each day a new young worker in the fields,
And every day more plenteous harvest-yields From human toil, to bless and not to ban— A better world, upon a better plan.
And, daily strengthening the…

Why stand dumbfounded and aghast,
As at invading armies sweeping by,
Surprised by haggard face and threatening cry,
The storm unheralded, that rose so fast?

Nay, ask me not.
I would not dare pretend To constant passion and a life-long trust.
They will desert thee, if indeed they must.
How can we guess what Destiny will send— Smiles of fair fortune, or black storms to rend What even now…

How will our unborn children scoff at us In the good years to come,
The happier years to come,
Because, like driven sheep, we yielded thus,
Before the shearers dumb.

The lighthouse shines across the sea;
The homing fieldfares sing for glee:
"Behold the shore!" Alas for shattered wing and breast!
The lighthouse breakers make their nest

Can this be my poem?—this poor fragment
Of bald thought in meanest language dressed!
Can this string of rhymes be my sweep poem?
All its poetry wholly unexpressed!