BETA

My Wife’s Valentine.

I.

“ Did you know Mamma ? ”
you ask me,1
Little Florence, “ Is it
true ? ”2
And your bright eyes
grow still brighter3
At the thought so strange
and new.4
I can tell you, pretty Florence,5
That the thought you’ve in your mind6
Is a great one, ay ! a greater7
Perhaps for years you will not find !8
You are standing, little Florence,9
In the glory of the dawn,10
And the bright world lies before you11
With its beauties, night and morn ;12
And its beauties, never ceasing,13
Morn by morn your eyes shall meet,14
And its wonders, still increasing,15
Year by year before your feet :16
But the wonder that is filling17
Your bright eyes with awe to-day18
Is the great one, that this beauty,19
And this wonder, last for aye.20
Ere upon this earth so lovely,21
Little Florence saw the light,22
Hope was high, and love was tender,23
Joy was blythe—and stern the fight.24
Cold, forgotten, ’neath the hillocks,25
Cold—ah—colder ! ’neath the sun,26
Many lie, who, little Florence,27
Had with joy their lives begun.28
Do not tremble ! ’tis the Eternal,29
The Divine all-perfect plan,30
That from age to age has governed31
And shall rule us, man by man.32

II.

Did I know mamma ? you ask me33
For to-day old friendships meet,34
And familiar voices mingle35
Drowned by little pattering feet,36
And I see her, years long parted,37
In her household, fair and mild,38
And the little Florence by me39
Is her youngest, loveliest, child.40
I can see the old grey manor41
And the fir-trees on the lawn,42
And the rustling, shimm’ring foliage,43
And the summer light at dawn,44
And the mossy garden terrace45
’Neath the fruit-walls long and high,46
Where the budding chestnut blossoms47
Glittered white against the sky,48
And the finely pencilled evenings49
Mid all which we passed our time,50
I, a boy just granted freedom,51
She, a maiden in her prime.52
Life was young to us, and lovely,53
Every door was opened then54
To the stores of many ages,55
To the thoughts and dreams of men.56
And we gathered of the honey 57
Which flowed freely all around,58
Walking with enchanted footsteps59
On the poets’ magic ground,60
Dantë, Laura, Beatricë,61
Arthur, Tristram, Elëanore,62
And the shrine of Arthur Hallam63
“ In memoriam ” evermore.64
Thro’ the world was I in fancy65
With her wandering day by day,66
Seeking for “ the four-leaved shamrock ”67
Of the air she loved to play.68
And the little lore I gathered69
And the culture, as was meet,70
Served to make our converse sweeter,71
All was offered at her feet.72
What she gave me back I say not,73
What I owe her, who can say ?74
She, whose sweetness first exalted,75
First refined life’s opening day.76
Still I hear her sisters’ greeting,77
Who for her sake held me dear,78
And the household’s kindly banter79
“ Ah, we thought you two were near.”80
And I fancied sudden danger81
And her guarded safe from harm82
As we mounted at the gatehouse83
With her light foot in my palm ;84
As we loitered down the hedgerows85
With a slack and careless rein,86
With my hand upon her saddle87
And hers resting on the mane ;88
As we galloped o’er the park slopes,89
Crossed the river at the ford,90
Where the startled deer were herded91
On the soft and flowery sward ;92
As I mounted at the farm gate93
’Neath the buildings mossy grey,94
As I turned at the last winding95
And looked backward on my way,96
Through the winter trees I see her,97
See her as I saw her then,98
Vision of the past returning99
Mid the haunts and strifes of men,100
And all day time, in the summer,101
In the meadows, mid the hay,102
We two, never wishing other,103
Lingered down the dying day,104
Lingered down the mellowing sunset,105
Lingered down the evening star106
—And you ask me, little Florence,107
Did I know mamma !108
Ah ! ah me ! it shows how distant109
Are those fairy summers now110
That you ask me, looking upward111
With your eager earnest brow,112
And I answer, pretty Florence,113
Answer, colder than the snow,114
“ Yes ! I knew your mother, Florence,115
Many, many years ago.”116

III.

Earth is fair ! and, like old Memnon,117
Full of melodies at morn !118
But the fair earth grows still fairer119
As day travels on from dawn.120
And those melodies so tender121
Though they reach us to the last,122
Breathing murmurs, how bewitching !123
From the harp-notes of the Past,124
Yet they grow, their theme is higher125
And their harmonies more sure,126
And their discords are converted127
Into chords serene and pure.128
Lovely is the summer sunlight129
Brilliant upon flower and grass,130
Gracious are the cloudy shadows,131
On the landscape, as they pass.132
But the gifts of God are brighter133
Than the sunshine on the grass,134
And the bonds He ties more gracious135
Than the shadows as they pass.136
There are ties more fixed and tender,137
Sealed and blessed in heaven above,138
There is sweetness more enduring139
Than a dreamy boy’s first love.140
J. Henry Shorthouse.