There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, Can circ.u.mvent or hinder or control The firm resolve of a determined soul.

Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great; All things give way before it, soon or late.

What obstacle can stay the mighty force Of the sea-seeking river in its course, Or cause the ascending orb of day to wait?

Each well-born soul must win what it deserves.

Let the fool prate of luck. The fortunate Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves, Whose slightest action or inaction serve.

The one great aim.

Why, even Death stands still, And waits an hour sometimes for such a will.

WINTER RAIN

Falling upon the frozen world last I heard the slow beat of the Winter rain - Poor foolish drops, down-dripping all in vain; The ice-bound Earth but mocked their puny might, Far better had the fixedness of white And uncomplaining snows--which make no sign, But coldly smile, when pitying moonbeams shine - Concealed its sorrow from all human sight.

Long, long ago, in blurred and burdened years, I learned the uselessness of uttered woe.

Though sinewy Fate deals her most skilful blow, I do not waste the gall now of my tears, But feed my pride upon its bitter, while I look straight in the world's bold eyes, and smile.

LIFE

Life, like a romping schoolboy, full of glee, Doth bear us on his shoulder for a time.

There is no path too steep for him to climb.

With strong, lithe limbs, as agile and as free, As some young roe, he speeds by vale and sea, By flowery mead, by mountain peak sublime, And all the world seems motion set to rhyme, Till, tired out, he cries, "Now carry me!"

In vain we murmur; "Come," Life says, "Fair play!"

And seizes on us. G.o.d! he goads us so!

He does not let us sit down all the day.

At each new step we feel the burden grow, Till our bent backs seem breaking as we go, Watching for Death to meet us on the way.

BURDENED

"Genius, a man's weapon, a woman's burden."--Lamartine.

Dear G.o.d! there is no sadder fate in life Than to be burdened so that you can not Sit down contented with the common lot Of happy mother and devoted wife.

To feel your brain wild and your bosom rife With all the sea's commotion; to be fraught With fires and frenzies which you have not sought, And weighed down with the wild world's weary strife;

To feel a fever always in your breast; To lean and hear, half in affright, half shame, A loud-voiced public boldly mouth your name; To reap your hard-sown harvest in unrest, And know, however great your meed of fame, You are but a weak woman at the best.

LET THEM GO

Let the dream go. Are there not other dreams In vastness of clouds hid from thy sight That yet shall gild with beautiful gold gleams, And shoot the shadows through and through with light?

What matters one lost vision of the night?

Let the dream go!!

Let the hope set. Are there not other hopes That yet shall rise like new stars in thy sky?

Not long a soul in sullen darkness gropes Before some light is lent it from on high; What folly to think happiness gone by!

Let the hope set!

Let the joy fade. Are there not other joys, Like frost-bound bulbs, that yet shall start and bloom?

Severe must be the winter that destroys The hardy roots locked in their silent tomb.

What cares the earth for her brief time of gloom Let the joy fade!

Let the love die. Are there not other loves As beautiful and full of sweet unrest, Flying through s.p.a.ce like snowy-pinioned doves?

They yet shall come and nestle in thy breast, And thou shalt say of each, "Lo, this is best!"

Let the love die!

FIVE KISSES

I--THE MOTHER'S KISS

Love breathed a secret to her listening heart, And said "Be silent." Though she guarded it, And dwelt as one within a world apart, Yet sun and star seemed by that secret lit.

And where she pa.s.sed, each whispering wind ablow, And every little blossom in the sod, Called joyously to her, "We know, we know, For are we not the intimates of G.o.d?"

Life grew so radiant, and so opulent, That when her fragile body and her brain By mortal throes of agony were rent, She felt a curious rapture in her pain.

Then, after anguish, came the supreme bliss - They brought the little baby, for her kiss!

II--THE BETROTHAL

There was a little pause between the dances; Without, somewhere, a tinkling fountain played.

The dusky path was lit by ardent glances As forth they fared, a lover and a maid.

He chose a nook, from curious eyes well hidden - All redolent with sweet midsummer charm, And by the great primeval instinct bidden, He drew her in the shelter of his arm.

The words that long deep in his heart had trembled Found sudden utterance; she at first dissembled, Refused her lips, and half withdrew her hand, Then murmured "Yes," and yielded, woman fashion, Her virgin mouth to young love's kiss of pa.s.sion.

III--THE BRIDAL KISS

As fleecy clouds trail back across the skies, Showing the sweet young moon in azure s.p.a.ce, The lifted veil revealed her shining face - A sudden wonder to his eager eyes.

In that familiar beauty lurked surprise: For now the wife stood in the maiden's place - With conscious dignity, and woman's grace, And love's large pride grown trebly fair and wise.

The world receded, leaving them alone.

The universe was theirs, from sphere to sphere, And life a.s.sumed new meaning, and new worth.

Love held no privilege they did not own, And when they kissed each other without fear, They understood why G.o.d had made the earth.