MY ROAD
There's a road to heaven, a road to hell, A road for the sick and one for the well; There's a road for the false and a road for the true, But the road for me is the road to you.
There's a road through prairie and forest and glen, A road to each place in human ken; There's a road over earth and a road over sea, But the road to you is the road for me.
There's a road for animal, bird, and beast, A road for the greatest, a road for the least; There's a road that is old and a road that is new, But the road for me is the road to you.
There's a road for the heart and a road for the soul, There's a road for a part and a road for the whole; There's a road for love, - which few ever see, - 'Tis the road to you and the road for me.
Oliver Opdyke [1878-
A WHITE ROSE
The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love; Oh, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove.
But I send you a cream white rosebud With a flush on its petal tips; For the love that is purest and sweetest Has a kiss of desire on the lips.
John Boyle O'Reilly [1844-1890]
"SOME DAY OF DAYS"
Some day, some day of days, threading the street With idle, heedless pace, Unlooking for such grace I shall behold your face! Some day, some day of days, thus may we meet.
Perchance the sun may shine from skies of May, Or winter's icy chill Touch whitely vale and hill. What matter? I shall thrill Through every vein with summer on that day.
Once more life's perfect youth will all come back, And for a moment there I shall stand fresh and fair, And drop the garment care; Once more my perfect youth will nothing lack.
I shut my eyes now, thinking how 'twill be - How face to face each soul Will slip its long control, Forget the dismal dole Of dreary Fate's dark, separating sea;
And glance to glance, and hand to hand in greeting, The past with all its fears, Its silences and tears, Its lonely, yearning years, Shall vanish in the moment of that meeting.
Nora Perry [1832-1896]
THE TELEPHONE
"When I was just as far as I could walk From here to-day, There was an hour All still When leaning with my head against a flower I heard you talk. Don't say I didn't, for I heard you say - You spoke from that flower on the window sill - Do you remember what it was you said?"
"First tell me what it was you thought you heard."
"Having found the flower and driven a bee away, I leaned my head, And holding by the stalk, I listened and I thought I caught the word - What was it? Did you call me by my name? Or did you say - Someone said 'Come' - I heard it as I bowed."
"I may have thought as much, but not aloud."
"Well, so I came."
Robert Frost [1875-
WHERE LOVE IS
By the rosy cliffs of Devon, on a green hill's crest, I would build me a house as a swallow builds its nest; I would curtain it with roses, and the wind should breathe to me The sweetness of the roses and the saltness of the sea.
Where the Tuscan olives whiten in the hot blue day, I would hide me from the heat in a little hut of gray, While the singing of the husbandmen should scale my lattice green From the golden rows of barley that the poppies blaze between.
Narrow is the street, Dear, and dingy are the walls Wherein you wait my coming as the twilight falls. All day with dreams I gild the grime till at your step I start - Ah Love, my country in your arms - my home upon your heart!
Amelia Josephine Burr [1878-
THAT DAY YOU CAME
Such special sweetness was about That day God sent you here, I knew the lavender was out, And it was mid of year.
Their common way the great winds blew, The ships sailed out to sea; Yet ere that day was spent I knew Mine own had come to me.
As after song some snatch of tune Lurks still in grass or bough, So, somewhat of the end o' June Lurks in each weather now.
The young year sets the buds astir, The old year strips the trees; But ever in my lavender I hear the brawling bees.
Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856-1935]
AMANTIUM IRAE
When this, our rose, is faded, And these, our days, are done, In lands profoundly shaded From tempest and from sun: Ah, once more come together, Shall we forgive the past, And safe from worldly weather Possess our souls at last?
Or in our place of shadows Shall still we stretch a hand To green, remembered meadows, Of that old pleasant land? And vainly there foregathered, Shall we regret the sun? The rose of love, ungathered? The bay, we have not won?
Ah, child! the world's dark marges May lead to Nevermore, The stately funeral barges Sail for an unknown shore, And love we vow to-morrow, And pride we serve to-day: What if they both should borrow Sad hues of yesterday?
Our pride! Ah, should we miss it, Or will it serve at last? Our anger, if we kiss it, Is like a sorrow past. While roses deck the garden, While yet the sun is high, Doff sorry pride: for pardon, Or ever love go by.
Ernest Dowson [1867-1900]
IN A ROSE GARDEN
A hundred years from now, dear heart, We shall not care at all. It will not matter then a whit, The honey or the gall. The summer days that we have known Will all forgotten be and flown; The garden will be overgrown Where now the roses fall.
A hundred years from now, dear heart, We shall not mind the pain; The throbbing crimson tide of life Will not have left a stain. The song we sing together, dear, The dream we dream together here, Will mean no more than means a tear Amid a summer rain.
A hundred years from now, dear heart, The grief will all be o'er; The sea of care will surge in vain Upon a careless shore. These glasses we turn down to-day Here at the parting of the way - We shall be wineless then as they, And shall not mind it more.
A hundred years from now, dear heart, We'll neither know nor care What came of all life's bitterness, Or followed love's despair. Then fill the glasses up again, And kiss me through the rose-leaf rain; We'll build one castle more in Spain, And dream one more dream there.
John Bennett [1865-
"GOD BLESS YOU, DEAR, TO-DAY"
If there be graveyards in the heart From which no roses spring, A place of wrecks and old gray tombs From which no birds take wing, Where linger buried hopes and dreams Like ghosts among the graves, Why, buried hopes are dismal things, And lonely ghosts are knaves!
If there come dreary winter days, When summer roses fall And lie, forgot, in withered drifts Along the garden wall; If all the wreaths a lover weaves Turn thorns upon the brow, - Then out upon the silly fool Who makes not merry now!
For if we cannot keep the past, Why care for what's to come? The instant's prick is all that stings, And then the place is numb. If Life's a lie, and Love's a cheat, As I have heard men say, Then here's a health to fond deceit - God bless you, dear, to-day!
John Bennett [1865-
TO-DAY
I bring you all my olden days, My childhood's morning glow; I love you down the meadow ways Where early blossoms blow: And up deep lanes of long-gone-by, Shining with dew-drops yet, - I wander still, till you and I Over the world are met.
I bring you all my lonely days, My heart that hungered so; I love you through the wistful haze Of autumns burning low; And on pale seas, beneath wan sky, By weary tides beset, I voyage still, till you and I Over the world are met.
I bring you all my happy days, - Armfuls of flowers - oh, I love you as the sunlight stays On mountains heaped with snow: And where the dearest dream-buds lie, With tears and dew-drops wet, I toss to-day; for you and I Over the world are met!
Benjamin R. C. Low [1880-
TO ARCADY
Across the hills of Arcady Into the Land of Song - Ah, dear, if you will go with me The way will not be long!
It will not lead through solitudes Of wind-blown woods or sea; Dear, no! the city's weariest moods May scarce veil Arcady.
'Tis in no unfamiliar land Lit by some distant star. No! Arcady is where you stand, And Song is where you are!
So walk but hand in hand with me - No road can lead us wrong; These are the hills of Arcady - Here is the Land of Song!
Charles Buxton Going [1863-
WILD WISHES
I wish, because the sweetness of your passing Makes all the earth a garden where you tread, That I might be the meanest of your roses, To pave your path with petals passion-red!
I wish, because the softness of your breathing Stirs the white jasmine at your window frame, That I might be the fragrance of a flower, To stir the night breeze with your dearest name!
I wish, because the glory of your dreaming Strews all the field of heaven with throbbing stars, That I might storm the portals of your slumber, And soar with you beyond night's golden bars!
I wish to be the day you die, Beloved, Though at its close my foolish heart must break! But most of all, I wish, my dearest darling, To be the Blessed Morning when you wake!
Ethel M. Hewitt [18 -
"BECAUSE OF YOU"
Sweet have I known the blossoms of the morning Tenderly tinted to their hearts of dew: But now my flowers have found a fuller fragrance, Because of you.
Long have I worshiped in my soul's enshrining High visions of the noble and the true - Now all my aims and all my prayers are purer, Because of you.
Wise have I seen the uses of life's labor; To all its puzzles found some answering clue. But now my life has learned a nobler meaning, Because of you.