This is a volume of poems by American engineer, educator, editor, diplomat, novelist, and poet Arthur Sherburne Hardy. All of the poems in this volume are short and expressive, touching upon many different subjects.
By : Arthur S. Hardy (1847 - 1930)
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I
Last night I dreamed this dream: That I was dead;
And as I slept, forgot of man and God,
That other dreamless sleep of rest,
I heard a footstep on the sod,
As of one passing overhead,—
And lo, thou, Dear, didst touch me on the breast,
Saying: "What shall I write against thy name
That men should see?"
Then quick the answer came,
"I was beloved of thee."
II
Dear Giver of Thyself when at thy side,
I see the path beyond divide,
Where we must walk alone a little space,
I say: "Now am I strong indeed
To wait with only memory awhile,
Content, until I see thy face,—"
Yet turn, as one in sorest need,
To ask once more thy giving grace,
So, at the last
Of all our partings, when the night
Has hidden from my failing sight
The comfort of thy smile,
My hand shall seek thine own to hold it fast;
Nor wilt thou think for this the heart ingrate,
Less glad for all its past,
Less strong to bear the utmost of its fate.
III
As once through forest shade I went,
I heard a flower call, and bent—
Then strove to go. Should love not spare?
"Nay, Dearest, this is love's sweet share
Of selfishness. For which is best,
To die alone or on thy breast?
If thou hast heard my call,
Take fearlessly, thou art my guest—
To give is all"
Hush! O Love, thou casuist!
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