Stray Pebbles from the Shores of Thought
Elizabeth Gould
Elizabeth Porter Gould
Stray Pebbles from the Shores of Thought
POEMS OF NATURE
TO WALT WHITMAN
"I loafe and invite my soul."
And what do I feel?
An influx of life from the great central power
That generates beauty from seedling to flower.
"I loafe and invite my soul."
And what do I hear?
Original harmonies piercing the din
Of measureless tragedy, sorrow, and sin.
"I loafe and invite my soul."
And what do I see?
The temple of God in the perfected man
Revealing the wisdom and end of earth's plan.
August, 1891.
TO SUMMER HOURS
DAY
Trip lightly, joyous hours,
While Day her heart reveals.
Such wealth from secret bowers
King Time himself ne'er steals.
O joy, King Time ne'er steals!
NIGHT
Breathe gently, tireless hours,
While Night in beauty sleeps.
Hold back e'en softest showers, —
Enough that mortal weeps.
Ah me, that my heart weeps!
A TRUE VACATION
IN A HAMMOCK
"Cradled thus and wind caressed,"
Under the trees,
(Oh what ease.)
Nature full of joyous greeting;
Dancing, singing, naught secreting,
Ever glorious thoughts repeating —
Pause, O Time,
I'm satisfied!
Now all life
Is glorified!
Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass.
A QUESTION
Is life a farce?
Tell me, O breeze,
Bearing the perfume of flowers and trees,
While gaily decked birds
Pour forth their gladness in songs beyond words,
And cloudlets coquette in the fresh summer air
Rejoicing in everything being so fair —
Is life a farce?
How can it be, child,
When Nature at heart
Is but the great spirit of love and of art
Eternally saying, "I must God impart."
Is life a farce?
Tell me, O soul,
Struggling to act out humanity's whole
'Midst Error and Wrong,
And failure in sight of true victory's song;
With Wisdom and Virtue at times lost to view,
And love for the many lost in love for the few —
Is life a farce?
How can it be, child,
When humanity's heart
Is but the great spirit of love and of art
Eternally crying, "I must God impart."
TO A BUTTERFLY
O butterfly, now prancing
Through the air,
So glad to share
The freedom of new living,
Come, tell me my heart's seeking.
Shall I too know
After earth's throe
Full freedom of my being?
Shall I, as you,
Through law as true,
Know life of fuller meaning?
O happy creature, dancing,
Is time too short
With pleasure fraught
For you to heed my seeking?
Ah, well, you've left me thinking:
If here on earth
A second birth
Can so transform a being,
Why may not I
In worlds on high
Be changed beyond earth's dreaming?
IN A HAMMOCK
The rustling leaves above me,
The breezes sighing round me,
A network glimpse of bluest sky
To meet the upturned seeing eye,
The greenest lawn beneath me,
Loved flowers and birds to greet me,
A well-kept house of ancient days
To tell of human nature's ways, —
Oh happy, happy hour!
Whence comes all this to bless me,
The soft wind to caress me,
The life which does my strength renew
For purer visions of the true?
Alas! no one can tell me.
But, hush! let Nature lead me.
Let even wisest questions cease
While I breathe in such life and peace
This happy, happy hour.
Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass.
O RARE, SWEET SUMMER DAY
"The day is placid in its going,
To a lingering motion bound,
Like a river in its flowing —
Can there be a softer sound?"
    – Wordsworth.
O rare, sweet summer day,
Could'st thou not longer stay?
The soothing, whispering wind's caress
Was bliss to weary brain,
The songs of birds had power to bless
As in fair childhood's reign.
The tinted clouds were free from showers,
The sky was wondrous clear,
The precious incense of rare flowers
Made sweet the atmosphere;
The shimmering haze of mid-day hour
Was balm to restlessness,
While thought of silent hidden power
Was strength for helplessness —
O rare, sweet summer day,
Could'st thou