Songs, Merry and Sad
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Songs, Merry and Sad - John Charles McNeill
John Charles McNeill
Songs, Merry and Sad
Published by Good Press, 2022
goodpress@okpublishing.info
EAN 4057664584878
Table of Contents
SONGS, MERRY AND SAD
The Bride
Oh, Ask Me Not
Isabel
To ———
To Melvin Gardner: Suicide
Away Down Home
For Jane's Birthday
A Secret
The Old Bad Woman
Valentine
A Photograph
Jesse Covington
An Idyl
Home Songs
M. W. Ransom
Protest
Oblivion
Now!
Tommy Smith
Before Bedtime
If I Could Glimpse Him
Attraction
Love's Fashion
Alcestis
Reminiscence
Sonnet
Lines
An Easter Hymn
A Christmas Hymn
When I Go Home
Odessa
Trifles
Sunburnt Boys
Gray Days
An Invalid
A Caged Mocking-Bird
Dawn
Harvest
Two Pictures
October
The Old Clock
Tear Stains
A Prayer
She Being Young
Paul Jones
The Drudge
The Wife
Vision
September
Barefooted
Pardon Time
The Rattlesnake
The Prisoner
Sonnet
Folk Song
97
: The Fast Mail
Sundown
At Sea
L'envoi
[End of original text.]
SONGS, MERRY AND SAD
Table of Contents
The Bride
Table of Contents
The little white bride is left alone
With him, her lord; the guests have gone;
The festal hall is dim.
No jesting now, nor answering mirth.
The hush of sleep falls on the earth
And leaves her here with him.
Why should there be, O little white bride,
When the world has left you by his side,
A tear to brim your eyes?
Some old love-face that comes again,
Some old love-moment sweet with pain
Of passionate memories?
Does your heart yearn back with last regret
For the maiden meads of mignonette
And the fairy-haunted wood,
That you had not withheld from love,
A little while, the freedom of
Your happy maidenhood?
Or is it but a nameless fear,
A wordless joy, that calls the tear
In dumb appeal to rise,
When, looking on him where he stands,
You yield up all into his hands,
Pleading into his eyes?
For days that laugh or nights that weep
You two strike oars across the deep
With life's tide at the brim;
And all time's beauty, all love's grace
Beams, little bride, upon your face
Here, looking up at him.
Oh, Ask Me Not
Table of Contents
Love, should I set my heart upon a crown,
Squander my years, and gain it,
What recompense of pleasure could I own?
For youth's red drops would stain it.
Much have I thought on what our lives may mean,
And what their best endeavor,
Seeing we may not come again to glean,
But, losing, lose forever.
Seeing how zealots, making choice of pain,
From home and country parted,
Have thought it life to leave their fellows slain,
Their women broken-hearted;
How teasing truth a thousand faces claims,
As in a broken mirror,
And what a father died for in the flames