Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
Between the Lights
By Maurice Francis Egan (1852–1924)I
’Mid trembling stalks of white-tipped clover,
I lie and dream, as the shadows pass
From twilight’s gates the cloud-bridge over.
Lie starlight, gloom, and the night’s chill wind,
Calm eve comes forth, like a timid bride,
And with shaded eyes looks on mankind;—
She looks at me, as I lounge and dream;
She builds in the sky for my delight
High-towered castles that glow and gleam
Redder than snow-crests in North fires bright.
And Pluto’s bride on her throne below,
And Helen fair, to her lord untrue,
Anguished and wailing in deathless woe;
Gold arabesques on a jasper ground,
Gray cameo-faces, cold and grand,
Puck and Peas-blossom hovering round,
Oberon and his glittering band.
Shows me a plain near the walls of Troy,
Where shepherds sheep in low shrubs leave
In haste, to gaze on a bright-haired boy:
The boy is Paris, he cometh out,
Out of the city, strong-limbed and fair.
Live I in future or past? I doubt
Am I Greek shepherd or gay trouvère—
Œnone weeping for him, forlorn?
Who strives with the plaintive lute to stir
Some love in a Norman heart of scorn?
Out of a balcon of hues that glow,
There leans a lady against the sky;
Her robe is bordered with pearls, I know,
Pearls on her neck with her pearl-skin vie.
With a bright plumed hat and purple cloak;
He calls her “lily” and “damask rose”;
Even in cloudland they wear love’s yoke.
Bold knights ride forward on prancing steeds,
King Arthur’s court, with Sir Launcelot—
Presto! ’Tis Syrinx among the reeds:
Apollo seeks her, but finds her not.
I cannot think for scent of clover;
No moral I find in clouds that pass,
I only know that sunset’s over.