Lost Romance

Lost Romance Blanche Kendall McKey 'THHE snow lies drifted white upon 1 the hill, And all the glad, bright, heedless days are done! Like thought of yesteryears, the wind blows chill— I would that I might feel the summer sun! Nay, turn your thoughts away from blossoms pink and summer sun. The sky is grey above the little lake, And no glad bird enthralls the misty air; Soon rippling waves will prison stillness take,— And there will be a dozen boats to spare ! Nay, turn your thoughts away from frozen wave and empty boats to spare. I'm thinking of a long, gay summer row: The soft, recurrent splashing of the oar; I drink the breath of marshlike waters' flow; I see the gleam of wing that flash no more! Nay, turn your thoughts away from lily- pond and wings that flash no more. O little hill that was so radiant green! O little lake that was so dancing blue! O beauty — fair as dreams that Pan has seen — You would not be so sad if hearts were true! Nay, turn your thoughts away from winter snow and hearts not true. The Dusklight Blanche Kendall McKey THROUGH the dusklight and the silence steals your soul to me — Through the gray-white shadow, falling, come your fingers white; While I clasp them breathless, waiting, while I hold them tight Like the dawning of the moonlight, your dear face I see — Like the dim, uncertain moonlight, your dear face I see. In the dusklight, when one wee star smiled . back faintly from the lake, Then I hold it pleading, prayerful, the sweet vision of your face. Then I live — forgotten earth-strife, and forgotten time and space; Yet my tortured heart is weeping for the time the dream will break For the lone, unlighted moment when the dream must break. Fc OR many years the Young Woman's Journal and the Improve- ment Era have published poems from the pens of able writers. Many of these have been followed by finer and more thoughtful ones by the same authors, and it is a most interesting study to go through past volumes and pick out the lovely things of the years gone by to read along with equally love- ly ones of the present. Blanche Kendall McKey wrote poetry for our pages as long ago as 1910, which is not long ago at all when we realize that poetry is eternal. Her songs have ever been sung in a minor key, which is perhaps one explanation of their strong appeal. Some of the following are her early poems; some are very new; all are characteristic of the delight- ful way she has of saying things which are all but untranslatable, and yet express the vague yearnings and hopes which we ourselves have never been able to translate into words. Growth Blanche Kendall McKey WHAT doth it measure, O my heart, That you sang a year ago? The laugh may tremble, the tear may start ; What doth it measure, O my heart? The ages come and go. What doth it measure, heart of mine, Weeping for yesterday's dead? The peasant starves that the king may dine; What, O life, is this ache of thine, When time his tale hath said? What doth it measure, O my soul, (Earth-clouds hiding the sun) Can man's hand stop the ocean's roll? What doth it measure, O my soul, When God hath said "Tis done?" April Blanche Kendall McKey y^PRIL! with the glad spring sun a- JCx. dancing on the pond, And sheening gold the crocuses a-springing up beyond; April! with the robin and the pungent smell of pine- April sunning o'er his curls, and his wee hands in mine. April in your laugh, my dear, and feet that never rest; April in your soul, my dear, where April sun shines best. 0 little monarch of my world, O little dimpled king, In my heart is the sweetest psalm that mortal heart can sing. And when I'm called to see His face, the maker of the spring, (Ah, tear-drops rush into my eyes for love of thee and Him) 1 shall not fear the crossing, if I can keep alway The gladness and the love that's bursting in my heart today. Compensation Blanche Kendall McKey OTHE sweep of the snow-plains — f The burst of spring, sky; The heavy, hushing silence, save the weird coyote's cry. And you were there, and there was I Alone beneath the winter sky! Ye winter winds, ye blew not cold, Ahs it was like a burst of spring — Or like a breath from Heaven's gate Just dropping, fluttering. Or like the little blue-bird's wing, O winter spring! For you were there, and there was I Alone beneath the winter sky. So let the bitter moment come And let the flood-gates roar; And let them grieve who will for days That sleep to wake no more. For once I lived as gods may live, For once I gave as gods may give; For one great hour I touched the sky. For you were there, and there was I. Longing, Blanche Kendall McKey AND it will bring you back — The burst of spring. The low sweet calling of the whip-poor- will And you will see the star above the lake And watch the fire-fly dance below the hill, The throbbing of your heart-song hushed and still. Oh, it will bring you back — ■ The burst of spring; The garden-folk a-dance with joy set free, The oriole a-singing in the tree, The little path a-gleaming in the sun To welcome one Content awhile to stay. Beside the branch the oriole is swinging — But I shall be too far away, Too far away To hear his singing.