Chapter I: Front Matter

AFTERGLOW

AFTERGLOW

LATER POEMS

BY

JULIA C. R. DORR

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1900

Copyright, 1900, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS

THE DE VINNE PRESS

TO S. M. D.

If love could wing its flight
To yon far realm of light,
Fain would I bring to you,
O tender heart and true,
These spoils of later years,
Half sunshine and half tears!

CONTENTS

PAGE

INCONSISTENCY 3

WHOM THE GODS LOVE 5

HUSH! 7

THY SONGS AND MINE 8

A POET’S WIFE 9

“DO THEY MEASURE TIME WHERE THOU ART?” 10

THE WISE MEN 11

A KNIGHT-ERRANT 12

THE COUNTERSIGN 13

THE DOWER 14

SUPPLICATION 15

THE COMRADES 18

AN AFTERTHOUGHT 22

THE SANCTUARY LAMP 25

AFTER THE MAGNIFICAT 31

THREE CROSSES 34

ON THE HEIGHT 37

WHEN SPENSER DIED 39

LOOKING TOWARD SPAIN 42

INSTALLATION HYMN 44

THE SACRAMENTAL HYMN 46

LESSONS TWAIN 48

OUTLIVED 49

JACQUES AND SUZETTE 51

AT BAR HARBOR 55

HUBERT DE BURGH 56

CHRISTIANA 59

THE CHAMBER 61

“IN MANUS TUAS, DOMINE!” 64

THE CITY CALLED CHU 66

THE DEATH-SONG OF THE HEMLOCK 68

FOR A CHRISTENING 72

THE DREAM-BEARER 75

THE SECRET CHAMBER 77

“OUT OF THE SILENCE, SPEAK!” 79

AFTER MANY DAYS 82

AFTERGLOW

LATER POEMS

INCONSISTENCY

I

When dawns some day fairer than other days,
And all the mountain passes are aglow
With its supernal splendor, and the low,
Dim valleys sleeping in the woodland ways
Waken to glorious life at morn’s first rays,--
When happy birds sing, and all winds that blow,
Laden with seeds of blessing come and go,
And earth no secret of her woe betrays,--
Then, O belovèd, when my heart is light
And all is well with me, and pain and care
Have vanished as a dream of last year’s rose
Fades with the passing of a summer night,
My soul in ecstasy of love and prayer
Cries: “God, I thank thee that he knows, he knows!”

II

But on some other day, when skies unroll
Their storm-cloud banners only, and the beat
Of the wild tempest is like hurrying feet
That stay not, halt not, till they reach the goal;
When doubt and dread assail my fainting soul,
And, when I fain God’s mercy would entreat,
Even the prayers my trembling lips repeat
Seem like the clamor of harsh bells that toll--
Then, thinking of thee in some far, dim realm,--
Dim to our senses, glorious to thine,--
Where never once a cruel wind doth blow,
Nor storm, nor stress, come near thee to o’erwhelm,
I lift mine eyes unto the hills divine,
And cry: “Thank God, thank God, he does not know!”

WHOM THE GODS LOVE