Ada Cambridge: Все стихи поэта

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Mates

It boots not to retrace the path

To ages dim and hoar,

When Man, at the domestic hearth,

First learned the art of war,

And—since in battle one must fall—

Held his defeated spouse in thrall,

That she should fight no more;

And thereby doomed to sleep and sloth

by Ada Cambridge

The Old Manor House

An old house, crumbling half away, all barnacled and lichen-grown,

Of saddest, mellowest, softest grey,—with a grand history of its own—

Grand with the work and strife and tears of more than half a thousand years.

Such delicate, tender, russet tones of colour on its gables slept,

With streaks of gold betwixt the stones, where wind-sown flowers and mosses crept:

Wild grasses waved in sun and shade o'er terrace slab and balustrade.

Around the clustered chimneys clung the ivy's wreathed and braided threads,

And dappled lights and shadows flung across the sombre browns and reds;

by Ada Cambridge

By A Norfolk Broad

One hour ago the crimson sun, that seemed so long a-drowning, sank.

The summer day is all but done. Our boat is moored beneath the bank.

I bask in peace, content, replete—my faithful comrade at my feet.

The water-violet shuts its eye; the water-lily petals close;

So in the evening light we lie and dream in undisturbed repose.

How far all petty cares have flown! How calm the fretful world has grown!

We only hear the gentle breeze, in bender sighs and whispers, pass

Through osier beds and alder trees, and rustling flags and bending grass;

by Ada Cambridge

The Watchman

Through jewelled windows in the walls

The tender daylight smiles;

Majestic music swells and falls

Adown the stately aisles;

Shadows of carven roof and rood,

Of stony saints and angels, brood

Above the altar-glow;

They cannot dim the shining face

by Ada Cambridge

The Magic Wand

As an April garden

Breathes the scent of rain—

Rain that calls her treasures

Back to life again—

So my spirit quickens to the opening strain.

In its sheath of darkness

Fancy's folded wing

Thrills and stirs and quivers

by Ada Cambridge

Evensong

The sun has set; grey shadows darken slowly

The rose-red cloud-hills that were bathed in light

O Lord, to Thee, with spirit meek and lowly,

I kneel in prayer to-night.

I thank Thee for my "daily bread"—the sorrow

And the gladness Thou hast given me this day—

The strange rich gifts which, through a long to-morrow,

Deep in my soul will stay.

by Ada Cambridge

A Sigh In The Night

O sweet darkness, still, and calm, and lonely!

Spread thy downy pinions round about.

Spare me from thy hidden riches only

One dream-face; blot all the others out.

Bring him now, for thou hast power to free him,

From that ugly garb he wears by day;

Bring him now—my darling!—let me see him

Ere the tender kindness pass away.

by Ada Cambridge

Vows

Nay, ask me not. I would not dare pretend

To constant passion and a life-long trust.

They will desert thee, if indeed they must.

How can we guess what Destiny will send—

Smiles of fair fortune, or black storms to rend

What even now is shaken by a gust?

The fire will burn, or it will die in dust.

We cannot tell until the final end.

by Ada Cambridge

"This Enlightened Age"

A Meditation in the British Museum.

I say it to myself—in meekest awe

Of Progress, electricity and steam,

Of this almighty age—this liberal age,

That has no time to breathe, or think, or dream,—

I ask it of myself, with bated breath,

Casting a furtive glance about the hall,—

Our fathers, were their times so very dark?

by Ada Cambridge

Autumn

So still—so still! Only the endless sighing

Of sad Æolian harp-notes overhead;

Only the soft mass-music for the dying;

Only the requiem for the newly dead!

So strangely dim!—the grey mist on the heather,

The chill cloud-twilight in the wind-stripped bowers,

Where gold and scarlet sunlights lay together

On harvest fruit and summer wealth of flowers.

by Ada Cambridge

At Long Last

Late, late, the prize is drawn, the goal attained,

The Heart's Desire fulfilled, Love's guerdon gained.

Wealth's use is past, Fame's crown of laurel mocks

The downward-drooping head and grizzled locks.

The end is reached—the end of toil and strife—

The end of life.

Love flowers and fades like grass, and flowers again;

The spendthrift lovers waste themselves in vain;

by Ada Cambridge

By The Camp Fire

Ah, 'twas but now I saw the sun flush pink on yonder placid tide;

The purple hill-tops, one by one, were strangely lit and glorified;

And yet how sweet the night has grown, with palest starlights dimly sown!

Those mountain ranges, far and near, enclasp me,— sharply pencilled there,

Like blackest sea-waves,—outlined here, like phantoms in the luminous air,

Between that cold and quiet sky, and the calm river running by.

The gum-trees whisper overhead, and, delicately dark and fine,

Their lovely shadow-patterns shed across the paths of white moonshine.

by Ada Cambridge