Isabella Fyvie Mayo

I'm sitting in a shady room,
A dainty scent pervades its gloom,
The perfume from a withered flower
Gathered—who knows in what sweet hour?
Or pressed by what fair lips which must
Have mingled long ere this with dust?
...

Do I not wish I was like other folk?
Well, if a wish would do me any good
I think,—I almost think, sir,—that I should.
But if a lame limb's my appointed yoke,
It's not as bad as many a one might be,
It's easier p'raps to carry than to see!
...

The stormy afternoon was past,
And in the dim grey sky,
Between great hoary clouds, the sun
Looked out with lurid eye:
And we, two strangers from the town, the sea breeze yearning for,
Walked down between the fishers' cots, and went toward the shore.
...

From window, curtainless and high,
There gleamed a sickly, yellow light;
On other casements darkness fell,
But that shone all the dreary night.
...

Just where the early sunbeams fall,
And waken me at dawn,
To hear the lark sing praise because
Another day is born,
...

Falls the sunlight, dim and faint,
On her face, like face of saint,
On her thin, white hand:
Oh, the patient spirit pines
For the brighter sun which shines
In a brighter land!
...

Alas ! when after years apart,
When every thought of wrong and strife,
And every stinging of the heart
With which lost love is often rife
...

Since I walked careless in the noisy street,
With common words for any I might meet,
And did the petty duties each day brought,
And grievous troubles from small sources wrought,
Ah, me! it seems a weary while ago.
...

Draw back the curtain, let the light
Upon the chamber's gloom,
That I may think my son asleep,
Not ready for the tomb!
Ah! what he was, he always looked, but ne'er so fair as now;
The angels' wakening kiss has left a glory on his brow!
...

We both walked slowly o'er the yellow grass,
Beneath the sunset sky:
And then he climbed the stile I did not pass,
And there we said Good-bye.
...

On rolled the mighty melody,
As though multitude passed by
A sea of sound and sweetness; here and there
A clear young voice pealed high:
...

Sitting alone in the twilight time,
Alas! how silent the old house seems
Kissing the voices that only chime
In waking fancies or sleeping dreams!
I sit in my mother's old arm-chair,
But where are the others? Ah where? ah where?
...

Beside the window I sit alone,
And I watch as the stars come out,
I catch the sweetness of Lucy's tone,
And the mirth of the chorus' shout:
I listen and look on the solemn night,
Whilst they stand singing beneath the light.
...

The sun flares out in the ruddy east,
The ships stand rigid, like ghostly trees:
The roar and rattle of work have ceased,
The bathers' laugh comes up on the breeze,
And in the flash of the sunset gold
I count the chests I have bought and sold.
...

The girl sat down 'mid the rustling corn,
And startled a nested bird,
And up it sprang with a burst of song;
But I do not think she heard.
...

See a lark in the far summer sky,
My darling seated at her harp I see,
Playing the while our little children sing:
The world is full of music—not for me!
...

Our graves lie closed this Easter day,
But from their rugged sod
The sweet spring grass comes softly up
With messages from God.
...

He whom she loves is far away
From her and summer trees;
Daily he toils by dying beds,
Whose woe God only sees.
...

I'm sitting in my lonely room,
But for no hastening step I wait:
(And is Tom watching for me now,
And will he weary if I'm late?)
And sweetly does my baby sleep:
I never let him see me weep.
...

There's a tramp of feet in the silent street,
A cry on the midnight air;
And men wake from sleep as the dread flames creep,
And strange steps are on the stair;
...