After my grandma died, we went through her things and I found a book of poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Its a BEAUTIFUL book - hardcover with a pink/purple flower vine design on the cover, and inside it says it was given to one of my ancestors in 1895! My camera's battery is empty, but when I recharge it I'll take a picture and post it up here.
Anyways, I found a poem inside called "Maidenhood" and it intrigued me, so that is what follows:
Anyways, I found a poem inside called "Maidenhood" and it intrigued me, so that is what follows:
Maiden! with the meek brown eyes
In whose orb a shadow lies
Like the dust in evening skies!
Thou whose locks outshine the sun,
Golden tresses, wreathed in one,
As the braided streamlets run!
Standing, with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet!
Gazing, with a timid glance,
On the brooklet's swift advance,
On the river's broad expanse!
Deep and still, that gliding stream
Beautiful to thee must seem,
As the river of a dream.
Then why pause with indecision,
When bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to fields Elysian?
Seest thou shadows sailing by,
As the dove, with startled eye,
Seest the falcon's shadow fly?
Hearest thou voices on the shore,
that our ears perceive no more,
Deafened by the cataract's roar?
Oh thou child of many prayers!
Life hath quicksands - life hath snares!
Care and age come unawares!
Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,
May glides onward into June.
Childhood is the bough, where slumbered
Birds and blossom many-numbered; -
Age, that bough with snows encumbered.
Gather, then, each flower that grows,
When the young heart overflows,
To embalm that tent of snow.
Bear a lily in thy hand;
Gates of brass cannot withstand
On touch of that magic wand.
Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth.
Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal
Into wounds, that cannot heal,
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal;
And that smile, like sunshine, dart
Into many a sunless heart,
For a smile of God thou art.
In whose orb a shadow lies
Like the dust in evening skies!
Thou whose locks outshine the sun,
Golden tresses, wreathed in one,
As the braided streamlets run!
Standing, with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet!
Gazing, with a timid glance,
On the brooklet's swift advance,
On the river's broad expanse!
Deep and still, that gliding stream
Beautiful to thee must seem,
As the river of a dream.
Then why pause with indecision,
When bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to fields Elysian?
Seest thou shadows sailing by,
As the dove, with startled eye,
Seest the falcon's shadow fly?
Hearest thou voices on the shore,
that our ears perceive no more,
Deafened by the cataract's roar?
Oh thou child of many prayers!
Life hath quicksands - life hath snares!
Care and age come unawares!
Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,
May glides onward into June.
Childhood is the bough, where slumbered
Birds and blossom many-numbered; -
Age, that bough with snows encumbered.
Gather, then, each flower that grows,
When the young heart overflows,
To embalm that tent of snow.
Bear a lily in thy hand;
Gates of brass cannot withstand
On touch of that magic wand.
Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth.
Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal
Into wounds, that cannot heal,
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal;
And that smile, like sunshine, dart
Into many a sunless heart,
For a smile of God thou art.
This is a very lovely poem indeed. Below is a link to a primer called The Normal Course in Reading which includes an analysis of this poem (starting at the bottom of page 321). Longfellow wrote it for one of his daughters . . . and that is all I will tell you ;-)
ReplyDeletehttp://tinyurl.com/8uqmhy
Patty