In a chamber rich with wedded color
A maiden loosed her lustrous hair,
Like a young moon meshed in threaded sun-
light
Her beauty throbbed in the tressy snare.
Oh, she was fair as a rose-lipped lily —
A rosy marble of molded song,
And around her lips fond thoughts were humming
Like sweet-faint bees that feast too long.
Love will surely come tomorrow,
Even now his glowing feet
Dash the dappled shore of darkness
Into blushes warm and sweet,
And his wavering, ruby arrow
Pledges heaven to me tomorrow.
Awhile she stood in the rippled splendor
Of amber tresses all unbound.
And the irised clouds of castled dreamland
Ever her sea-deep soul surround.
And the dear eyes drooped with a sudden
languor,
And over her curving lips a shade
Of far, faint trouble fell and flitted.
As she gathered her hair in a careless braid.
Love will surely come tomorrow;
But if love inconstant be
Death had better wear my favor
As a faithful knight to me;
Better, if love assail with sorrow,
Death should be my guest tomorrow.
And the twin-sphered bosom, like camelias,
White-clustered round twin buds of rose,
Now loose a gilded swarm of star-beams
To feed upon her sweet repose;
As the lashes, brown as twilight shadows,
Droop softly o'er the sapphire eyes,
And around her lips the bashful dimple
Of love's young hope entranced lies.
Love will surely come tomorrow;
All the roses at the gate
Lean their dewy heads together
As they whisper, "Dream and wait!"
Many maids a wreath will borrow
When they greet their loves tomorrow."
And the moon uprose: her slender sickle
From steep to steep was handed on.
And all the harvest gold of midnight
In sheafy splendor showered down:
An angel, from the fretted casement
Of one far star, on wings of pearl,
Kent tryst with her, upon her bosom
One moment lay his fraerrant curl.
Love will surely come tomorrow;
Whom the angels kiss at night.
'Neath the vermeil arch of morning
Ever find their soul's delight —
Never more a doubt will harrow,
Love will surely come tomorrow.
And the morning broke, its beryl billow
Fringed with scarlet foam outspread,
And the day had burst its dewy calyx,
And flamed in blossom overhead;
But the maiden, pale as some wan flower,
In whose pure chalice love had burned
Its magic perfumes, lay unlitten
Heart and hope to ashes turned.
Death will often claim the morrow
We have wreathen with desire,
Often hope but decks the altar
Where her flames at last expire.
Yet, if love assail with sorrow,
Death were truer king tomorrow.
The temples of youth are decaying
In Beutah, the beautiful vale,
And my life has been wearily straying
Away from its beautiful pale,
Where the waters of Marah are sobbing
The sorrow ot desolate years —
The sorrow and tremulous throbbing
Of hopes that have darkened to fears.
Forever, forever, forever,
The dolorous song of the river,
The wail of the river of tears.
In Beulah, a ring-belted river,
That danced in a garland of pearl,
First sang the refrain of forever
With many a wimple and swirl,
And the flag-flowers bent in the rushes
For a touch of the fanciful stream,
And the roses in redolent blushes
Were aflame with the magical dream.
Forever, forever, forever,
Was the song of the ring-belted river,
The refrain of a beautiful theme.
And love, with red lips, in the pauses
Of passion took up the refrain,
And the birds, in their rapturous clauses
Of silence to listen were fain;
But the leaves in a silvery quiver
Of mystery whispered the breeze
That a rainbow of crimson would ever
Rekindle the blossom of ease.
Forever, forever, forever.
Was the song of the jubilant river,
In the odorous haunts of the bees.
Where the mountains, in desolate places,
Are kneeling, bare-kneed, in the sand,
And my Sphinxes, with mystical faces,
Are gazing in revery grand — ■
The garlands I twined by the river
Are fillets of flame on my brow,
And the crystalline chime of forever
Is the dirge of Elysium now.
Forever, forever, forever,
Alas, for the musical river
That sang me the treacherous vow.
The stars, on their cold eminences,
May weave immortelles of the light,
But my soul, in its vapor of senses,
Is crowned with the sorrow of night;
And the oceans may chant, as they follow
The glittering shield of the moon,
But their music is weary and hollow —
A gloomy, unsyllabled rune.
Forever, forever, forever,
Is a lonesome refrain, if it sever
A soul from the loves of its June.
There's an odor of death in the flowers
That droop in this chaplet of mine;
Believe me, in sunnier hours
They breathed an aroma divine —
And so I shall wear them forever,
Thus drying in garlands of death,
As I turn with sick lips and a shiver
From the kiss of a following wraith.
Forever, forever, forever,
Is the song of a shadowless river
That shall heal the old sorrows of faith.