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[Illustration: Yours Sincerely,

Elizabeth Porter Gould.]




    STRAY PEBBLES
    FROM THE
    SHORES OF THOUGHT

    BY
    ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD


    BOSTON
    PRESS OF T. O. METCALF & CO.
    1892




    COPYRIGHT 1892
    BY
    ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD




CONTENTS.


  POEMS OF NATURE:
                                                              PAGE
      To Walt Whitman                                           11
      To Summer Hours                                           12
      A True Vacation                                           13
      A Question                                                14
      To a Butterfly                                            16
      In a Hammock                                              18
      O rare, sweet summer day                                  20
      An Old Man's Reverie                                      22
      On Jefferson Hill                                         26
      On Sugar Hill                                             28
      At "Fairfield's," Wenham                                  29
      Blossom-time                                              31
      The Primrose                                              33
      Joy, all Joy                                              35
      Among the Pines                                           37
      Conscious or Unconscious                                  39


  POEMS OF LOVE:

      Love's How and Why                                        43
      Love's Guerdon                                            44
      A Birthday Greeting                                       45
      Three Kisses                                              48
      If I were only sure                                       50
      Absence                                                   52
      A Love Song                                               53
      In Her Garden                                             55
      Love's Wish                                               56
      Is there anything purer                                   58
      Longing                                                   60
      Young Love's Message                                      61
      A Diary's Secret                                          63
      A Monologue                                               65
      A Priceless Gift                                          66
      The Ocean's Moan                                          67
      Love's Flower                                             70
      Renunciation                                              71
      Love Discrowned                                           74
      A Widow's Heart Cry                                       76
      Together                                                  78
      Shadowed Circles                                          80


  MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:

      A Song of Success                                         85
      The Under World                                           87
      She Knows                                                 88
      At Pittsford, Vermont                                     90
      Childhood's Days                                          92
      An Answer                                                 94
      Where, What, Whence                                       96
      Heroes                                                    98
      A Magdalen's Easter Cry                                  100
      For the Anniversary of Mrs. Browning's Death             103
      Robert Browning                                          105
      To Neptune, in behalf of S. C. G.                        107
      To the <DW29>s growing on the grave of A. S. D.          109
      A Broken Heart                                           111
      My Release                                               113
      The god of music                                         115
      To Wilhelm Gericke                                       118
      For E. T. F.
        1.--After the birth of her son                         119
        2.--Upon the death of her son                          121
      To C. H. F.                                              123
      An Anniversary Poem                                      126
      A Comfort                                                128
      An Anniversary                                           129
      To Miss Elizabeth P. Peabody                             131
      At Life's Setting                                        133
      Grandma Waiting                                          136
      Does it Pay                                              144
      Auxilium ab Alto                                         145
      Limitations                                              147
      The Muse of History                                      148
      An Impromptu to G. H. T.                                 151
      To Mrs. Partington                                       153
      Lines for the Seventieth Birthday Anniversary of Walt
            Whitman                                            156


  SONNETS:

      The Known God                                            161
      To Phillips Brooks                                       163
      At the "Porter Manse"                                    165
      Our Lady of the Manse                                    167
      To B. P. Shillaber                                       169
      To Our Mary                                              171
      A Birthday Remembrance                                   173
      Josef Hofmann                                            175
      After the Denial                                         177
      Gethsemane                                               179
      On Lake Memphremagog                                     181
      Luke 23: 24                                              183
      To Members of my Home Club                               185


  FOR MY LITTLE NEPHEWS AND NIECES:

      Mamma's Lullaby                                          189
      Warren's Song                                            190
      Baby Mildred                                             192
      Rosamond and Mildred                                     194
      'Chilla                                                  196
      Childish Fancies                                         197
      What little Bertram did                                  199
      "Dear little Mac"                                        202
      Willard and Florence on Mt. Wachusett                    207
      A little Brazilian                                       210
      The little doubter                                       213
      Our Kitty's Trick                                        217
      A Message                                                220




POEMS OF NATURE.




TO WALT WHITMAN.


            "I loafe and invite my soul."
                And what do I feel?
      An influx of life from the great central power
      That generates beauty from seedling to flower.

            "I loafe and invite my soul."
                And what do I hear?
      Original harmonies piercing the din
      Of measureless tragedy, sorrow, and sin.

            "I loafe and invite my soul."
                And what do I see?
      The temple of God in the perfected man
      Revealing the wisdom and end of earth's plan.

    _August, 1891._




TO SUMMER HOURS.


DAY.

      Trip lightly, joyous hours,
      While Day her heart reveals.
      Such wealth from secret bowers
      King Time himself ne'er steals.
      O joy, King Time ne'er steals!


NIGHT.

      Breathe gently, tireless hours,
      While Night in beauty sleeps.
      Hold back e'en softest showers,--
      Enough that mortal weeps.
      Ah me, that my heart weeps!




A TRUE VACATION.

IN A HAMMOCK.


      "Cradled thus and wind caressed,"
              Under the trees,
              (Oh what ease.)
      Nature full of joyous greeting;
      Dancing, singing, naught secreting,
      Ever glorious thoughts repeating--
              Pause, O Time,
              I'm satisfied!
              Now all life
              Is glorified!

_Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass._




A QUESTION.


               Is life a farce?
               Tell me, O breeze,
      Bearing the perfume of flowers and trees,
               While gaily decked birds
      Pour forth their gladness in songs beyond words,
      And cloudlets coquette in the fresh summer air
      Rejoicing in everything being so fair--
               Is life a farce?

               How can it be, child,
               When Nature at heart
      Is but the great spirit of love and of art
      Eternally saying, "I must God impart."

               Is life a farce?
               Tell me, O soul,
      Struggling to act out humanity's whole
               'Midst Error and Wrong,
      And failure in sight of true victory's song;
      With Wisdom and Virtue at times lost to view,
      And love for the many lost in love for the few--
              Is life a farce?

              How can it be, child,
              When humanity's heart
      Is but the great spirit of love and of art
      Eternally crying, "I must God impart."




TO A BUTTERFLY.


      O butterfly, now prancing
             Through the air,
             So glad to share
      The freedom of new living,
      Come, tell me my heart's seeking.
            Shall I too know
            After earth's throe
      Full freedom of my being?
            Shall I, as you,
            Through law as true,
      Know life of fuller meaning?

      O happy creature, dancing,
            Is time too short
            With pleasure fraught
      For you to heed my seeking?

      Ah, well, you've left me thinking:
            If here on earth
            A second birth
      Can so transform a being,
            Why may not I
            In worlds on high
      Be changed beyond earth's dreaming?




IN A HAMMOCK.


      The rustling leaves above me,
      The breezes sighing round me,
      A network glimpse of bluest sky
      To meet the upturned seeing eye,
      The greenest lawn beneath me,
      Loved flowers and birds to greet me,
      A well-kept house of ancient days
      To tell of human nature's ways,--
          Oh happy, happy hour!

      Whence comes all this to bless me,
      The soft wind to caress me,
      The life which does my strength renew
      For purer visions of the true?
      Alas! no one can tell me.
      But, hush! let Nature lead me.
      Let even wisest questions cease
      While I breathe in such life and peace
          This happy, happy hour.

_Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass._




O RARE, SWEET SUMMER DAY.

      "The day is placid in its going,
        To a lingering motion bound,
      Like a river in its flowing--
        Can there be a softer sound?"

                          --_Wordsworth._


          O rare, sweet summer day,
          Could'st thou not longer stay?
        The soothing, whispering wind's caress
          Was bliss to weary brain,
        The songs of birds had power to bless
          As in fair childhood's reign.

      The tinted clouds were free from showers,
        The sky was wondrous clear,
      The precious incense of rare flowers
        Made sweet the atmosphere;
      The shimmering haze of mid-day hour
        Was balm to restlessness,
      While thought of silent hidden power
        Was strength for helplessness--
        O rare, sweet summer day,
        Could'st thou not longer stay?

_Porter Manse._




AN OLD MAN'S REVERIE.


      Blow breezes, fresh breezes, on Love's swiftest wing,
      And bear her the message my heart dares to sing.
      Pause not on the highways where gathers earth's dust,
      Nor in the fair heavens, though cloudlets say must.
      But blow through the valleys where flowers await
      To give of their essence ere yielding to fate;
      Or blow on the hill tops where atmospheres lie
      Imbued with the health which no money can buy.
      But fail not, O breezes, on Love's swiftest wing
      To bear her the message my heart dares to sing.

      The breezes, thus ladened, sped on in their flight,
      As, cradled in hammock, I sang in delight,
      On that blest summer day in the years long ago,
      When life was all sunshine and youth all aglow.
      The sweets of the valleys, the breath of the hills
      Were gathered--the best that our loved earth distills--
      As, obedient still to my wish, on they flew
      To the home of my darling they now so well knew.

       *       *       *       *       *

      Alas for the breezes, alas for my heart,
      Alas for my message, so full of love's art!
      If only the breezes had followed their will,
      And loitered among the pure cloudlets so still,
      They'd have met a fair soul from the earth just set free
      In search of their help for its message to me;
      The message my darling, with last fleeting breath,
      In vain tried to utter, o'ertaken by death.

      The breezes, fresh breezes, have blown on since then,
      With messages laden again and again.
      As for me, I send none. I wait only their will
      To bring me that message my lone heart to fill.
      They'll find it some day in a light zephyr chase,
      For nothing is lost in pure love's boundless space.




ON JEFFERSON HILL.

(BEFORE THE PRESIDENTIAL RANGE.)


      The sovereign mountains bask in sunset rays,
            The valleys rest in peace;
      The lingering clouds melt into twilight haze,
            The birds their warbling cease;
      The villagers' hour of welcome sleep is near,
            The cattle wander home,
      While wrapped in summer-scented atmosphere,
            Calm evening comes to roam
              With gentle pace
              Through star-lit space,
      Till moon-kissed Night holds all in her embrace,
      And Morning waits to show her dawn-flushed face.




ON SUGAR HILL.

TO F. B. F.


      The lovely valleys nestling in the arms
          Of glorious mountain peaks;
      The purple tint of sunset hour, and charms
          The evening hour bespeaks;
      The monarch peak kissed by the rising sun,
          While clouds keep guard below;
      Grand, restful views, with foliage autumn-won,
          And Northern lights rare glow,--
                Will e'er recall,
                In memory's hall,
      The happy days when on fair "Look-Off's" height,
      Sweet friendship cast her hues of golden light.

_Hotel Look-Off, September, 1891._




AT FAIRFIELDS[A], WENHAM.

_June, 1890._


        Buttercups and daisies,
          Clover red and white,
        Ferns and crown-topped grasses
          Waving with delight,
        Dainty locust-blossoms,
          All that glad June yields,
        Welcome me with gladness
          To dearly-loved "Fairfields."
      But where's my happy collie dog,
                  My Rosa?

        The orioles sing greeting,
          The butterflies come near,
        The hens cease not their cackling,
          The horses neigh "I'm here,"
        The cows nod "I have missed you,"
          The pigs' eyes even shine,
        And from the red-house hearth-stone
          Comes pet cat Valentine.
      But where's my happy collie dog,
                  My Rosa?

        I miss her joyful greeting,
          Her handsome, high-bred face,
        Her vigorous, playful action
          In many a fair field chase.
        Not even lively Sancho
          Can fill for me her place.

        O Rosa, happy Rosa,
          Gone where the good dogs go,
        Dost find such fields as "Fairfields,"
          More love than we could show?

  [A] "Fairfields" is but another name for "Porter Manse."




BLOSSOM-TIME.


      Blossoms floating through the air,
      Bearing perfumes rich and rare,
      Free from trouble, toil, and care.
          Would I were a blossom!

      Robins singing in the trees,
      Feeling every velvet breeze,
      Free from knowledge that bereaves.
          Would I were a robin!

      Violets peaceful in the vale,
      Telling each its happy tale,
      Free from worldly noise and sale.
          Would I were a violet!

      Blessed day of needed wealth,
      Full of Nature's perfect health,
          Fill me with thy power.

      Then like blossoms I shall be,
          Wafting only purity,
      Or like robins, singing free
      'Midst the deepening mystery,
      Or like violets, caring naught
      Only to reflect God's thought."

_Porter Manse._




THE PRIMROSE.


      Who tells you, sweet primrose, 'tis time to wake up
            After dreaming all day?
      Who changes so quickly your sombre green dress
            To the yellow one gay,
      And makes you the pet of the twilight's caress,
            And of poet's sweet lay?
            Who does, primrose, pray?

      The primrose, secure on his emerald throne,
            Looked up quickly to say,
      "A dear lovely fairy glides down from his throne
            In the sun's golden ray,
      And with a sweet kiss opens wide all our eyes,
            Saying, 'Now is your day.'
      And lo! when he's gone we are filled with surprise
            At our wondrous array,
            So fresh and so gay.
      Do tell us the name of this fairy, I pray,
      Who gives of his beauty, and then hies away
            Without thanks, without pay.
            Does he linger your way?"




JOY, ALL JOY.


      Lying on the new-mown hay, in a sightly field,
            On a summer day,
            With no care to weigh,
      Or a bitter thought to stay all that sense might yield--
            What a joy to have alway!

      Sky as blue as blue can be, perfect green all round,
            Birdlings on the wing
            Ere they pause to sing
      On the top of bush or tree, or on sweet hay-mound--
            Restful joy in everything!

      Butterflies just come to light, proud of freedom's hour,
            Cows in pastures near,
            Wondering why I'm here,
      Chipmunks now and then in sight, bees in clover-flower--
            Added joy when these appear!

      Happy children far and near climbing loads of hay,
            Running here and there.
            Farmer's work to share,
      Skipping, shouting loud and clear, full of daring play--
            Children's joy! Joy everywhere!




AMONG THE PINES.


      Far up in air the pines are murmuring
          Love songs sweet and low,
          With a rhythmic flow,
      Worthy of the glad sun's glow.

      The airy clouds are o'er them bending,
          Captured by the sound
          Of such pleasure found
      In a playful daily round.

      The birds pause in their flight to listen,
          Wondering all the while
          How the trees can smile
      Rooted so to earthly guile.

      The hush of summer noon enwraps them
            Perfumed from below
            By the flowers that show
        They, too, murmuring love songs know.

      All nature finds a joy in loving--
            Oh, that I could hear
            Love songs once so dear
        Death has hushed forever here!

_Intervale Woods, North Conway._




CONSCIOUS OR UNCONSCIOUS?


      The earthquake's shock, the thunder's roar,
        The lightning's vivid chain,
      The ocean's strength, the deluge's pour,
        The wildest hurricane,

      Are moods that Nature loves to show
        To man who boasts his birth
      From conscious force she could not know
        Because denied soul-worth.

      But is it true she does not share
        A knowledge in God's plan?
      Must not she His own secret bear
        To so touch soul of man?

      Those who deny this see not clear
        Into the heart of things;
      For how could otherwise God here
        Reveal His wanderings?




POEMS OF LOVE.




LOVE'S HOW AND WHY.


        How do I love thee?
          Oh, who knows
      How the blush of the rose
      Can its secret disclose?
          Oh, who knows?

        Why do I love thee?
          Ah, who cares
      Sound a passion he shares
      With the angels? Who dares,
          Yes, who dares?




LOVE'S GUERDON.


      Thine eyes are stars to hold me
        To love's pure rapturous height.
      Thy thoughts are pearls to lead me
        To truth beyond earth's sight.
      Thy love is life to keep me
        Forever in God's light.




A BIRTHDAY GREETING.


            Thy birthday, dear?
      Oh, would I had the poet's art
      By which I could my wish impart
            For thy new year;
      But e'en a poet's pen of gold
      Would fail my wish to thee unfold
            In earthly sphere.

            Thy birthday, dear?
      Oh, would I had the painter's skill
      Prophetic visions to fulfill
            For thy new year;
      But e'en a painter's rarest brush
      Would but my holy visions crush,
            Or fail to cheer.

            Thy birthday, dear?
      Oh, would I had sweet music's aid
      To vitalize the prayers I've made
            For thy new year;
      Alas! not even music's best
      Could put in form my soul's behest
            For thee, my dear.

      That only will expression find
      In purest depths of thine own mind
            This coming year;
      As, guided by the inner light,
      There'll come to thee the new-born sight
            Of ravished seer.

      But in this sight thou may'st so feel
      Eternal beauty o'er thee steal--
            God's gift, my dear--
      That thou can'st find the blessed art
      By which to make e'en depths of heart
            In form appear.

      Yet, it may be a heaven's birthday
