Henry Van Dyke(10 November 1852 - 10 April 1933 / Germantown, Pennsylvania)
Echoes From the Greek Mythology
- by Henry Van Dyke112
I - STARLIGHT
With two bright eyes, my star, my love, Thou lookest on the stars above: Ah, would that I the heaven might be With a million eyes to look on thee.
II - ROSELEAF
A little while the rose, And after that the thorn; An hour of dewy morn, And then the glamour goes. Ah, love in beauty born, A little while the rose!
III - PHOSPHOR -- HESPER
O morning star, farewell! My love I now must leave; The hours of day I slowly tell, And turn to her with the twilight bell, -- O welcome, star of eve!
IV - SEASONS
Sweet in summer, cups of snow, Cooling thirsty lips aglow; Sweet to sailors winter-bound, Spring arrives with garlands crowned; Sweeter yet the hour that covers With one cloak a pair of lovers, Living lost in golden weather, While they talk of love together.
V - THE VINE AND THE GOAT
Although you eat me to the root, I yet shall bear enough of fruit For wine to sprinkle your dim eyes, When you are made a sacrifice.
VI - THE PROFESSOR
Seven pupils, in the class Of Professor Callias, Listen silent while he drawls, -- Three are benches, four are walls.
Autumn in the Garden
- by Henry Van Dyke98
When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark Makes its mark On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves Over fallen leaves; Then my olden garden, where the golden soil Through the toil Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep, Whispers in its sleep.
'Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox, Where the box Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks, There's a voice that talks Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here Year by year,-- Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours, Fading as the flowers.
Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief; But relief For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow From the Long-Ago, When I think of other lives that learned, like mine, To resign, And remember that the sadness of the fall Comes alike to all.
What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs! And what prayers For the silent strength that nerves us to endure Things we cannot cure! Pacing up and down the garden where they paced, I have traced All their well-worn paths of patience, till I find Comfort in my mind.
Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear: Yet how near Is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face, Of the human race! Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart, Not apart! They who know the sorrows other lives have known Never walk alone.
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