ON THE THRESHOLD

AN usher standing at the door

I show my white rosette;

A smile of welcome, nothing more,

Will pay my trifling debt;

Why should I bid you idly wait

Like lovers at the swinging gate?

Can I forget the wedding guest?

The veteran of the sea?

In vain the listener smites his breast,—

“There was a ship,” cries he!

Poor fasting victim, stunned and pale,

He needs must listen to the tale.

He sees the gilded throng within,

The sparkling goblets gleam,

The music and the merry din

Through every window stream,

But there he shivers in the cold

Till all the crazy dream is told.

Not mine the graybeard's glittering eye

That held his captive still

To hold my silent prisoners by

And let me have my will;

Nay, I were like the three-years’ child,

To think you could be so beguiled!

My verse is but the curtain's fold

That hides the painted scene,

The mist by morning's ray unrolled

That veils the meadow's green,

The cloud that needs must drift away

To show the rose of opening day.

See, from the tinkling rill you hear

In hollowed palm I bring

These scanty drops, but ah, how near

The founts that heavenward spring!

Thus, open wide the gates are thrown

And founts and flowers are all your own!