My heart was winter-bound until
I heard you sing;
O voice of Love, hush not, but fill
My life with Spring!
...
At evening when I go to bed
I see the stars shine overhead;
They are the little daisies white
That dot the meadow of the Night.
...
Give me the room whose every nook
Is dedicated to a book:
Two windows will suffice for air
And grant the light admission there,—
...
When I spin round without a stop
And keep my balance like the top,
I find that soon the floor will swim
Before my eyes; and then, like him,
...
Little drop of dew,
Like a gem you are;
I believe that you
Must have been a star.
...
When pale Selene in her crescent boat
Sails down into the margin of the West
Through shoals of stars that twinkle in unrest,
...
See, yonder, the belfry tower
That gleams in the moon’s pale light;
Or is it a ghostly flower
That dreams in the silent night?
...
Down in a garden olden,—
Just where, I do not know,—
A buttercup all golden
Chanced near a rose to grow;
...
ALL up and down in shadow-town
The shadow children go;
In every street you ’re sure to meet
...
GO, Rose, and in her golden hair
You shall forget the garden soon;
The sunshine is a captive there
And crowns her with a constant noon.
...
IT is my joy in life to find
At every turning of the road,
The strong arm of a comrade kind
To help me onward with my load.
...
DIVINELY shapen cup, thy lip
Unto me seemeth thus to speak:
“Behold in me the workmanship,
The grace and cunning of a Greek!
...
A LITTLE way below her chin,
Caught in her bosom’s snowy hem,
Some buttercups are fastened in,—
Ah, how I envy them!
...
HARK at the lips of this pink whorl of shell
And you shall hear the ocean’s surge and roar:
...
Winged wanderer from clover meadows sweet,
Where all day long beneath a smiling sky
You drained the wild-flowers' cups of honey dry
...
Out of the purple drifts,
From the shadow sea of night,
On tides of musk a moth uplifts
Its weary wings of white.
...
SHERMAN, FRANK DEMPSTER. Born in Peekskill, New York, May 6, 1860; died September 19, 1916. He took the degree of Ph.B. from Columbia University in 1884, and was Professor of Graphics in Columbia School of Architecture from 1904 until his death. He was the author of "Madrigals and Catches" (1887); "Lyrics for a Lute" (1890); "Little Folk Lyrics" (1892); "Lyrics of Joy" (1904); and "A Southern Flight" (with Clinton Scollard), (1906).)
Love's Springtide
My heart was winter-bound until
I heard you sing;
O voice of Love, hush not, but fill
My life with Spring!
My hopes were homeless things before
I saw your eyes;
O smile of Love, close not the door
To paradise!
My dreams were bitter once, and then
I found them bliss;
O lips of Love, give me again
Your rose to kiss!
Springtide of Love! The secret sweet
Is ours alone;
O heart of Love, at last you beat
Against my own!
Being a book lover myself, I thoroughly enjoy reading poems such as Sherman's, as they lend a sense of wonder to books and the vessels through which we enjoy them. I love poets from this time period as they are at the cusp of human language, in my opinion, with the well-educated writers having a vast reservoir of words to draw upon to create both a detailed picture and an enjoyable read. In his maze of descriptions he lies out a perfect library which most can agree with, who could reject a roaring fireplace and vast windows for a year-long tenancy in such a place? His adherence to the simple yet effective couplets add the nostalgic poem feel which entrance readers like myself.
Crocus song delineater magazine pg. 607 watercolor by taggin