THE NEST, a poem

GLAD is the grove with light,
     And the glen is song-caressed,
But longing comes ere night
     For the one, dear nest!

Far fields may seem more fair,
     And distant hills more blue,—
Still claims that nest my care
     In the dawn—in the dew;

For though the wild may woo
     My wing to many a quest,
Sweet in the dawn and the dew
     Are home and rest!

"The Nest" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Scribner's Magazine (January 1915) and Poems (1916) Volume I.

MA BELLE, a poem

THE world is full of charm, ma belle,
     And blithe as you are young;
It echoes with a silver note
     The lispings of your tongue;
It lays upon your fairy hand
     A touch as light as down;
It smiles approval, and, ma belle,
     You have not felt its frown.

The world is very rich, ma belle,
     And all its gifts are yours.
It bows before you, little one,
     And while the mood endures,
With roses, freshly garlanded,
     Your pathway bright adorns;
But roses fade, ma belle, ma belle—
     And there are left the thorns!

To snare your feet, the world, ma belle,
     Has spread a shining net,
What wonder then, believing child,
     If you awhile forget,
Midst suitors who to-night adore,
     And may to-morrow range,
A love that has been always yours—
     A love that cannot change!

What wonder!—still they whisper praise,
     And I have oft reproved;
Of love they speak with eloquence,
     And I have only loved.
Sometimes, alas, I envy them,
     Yet in the days to be,
You may forget them all, ma belle—
     But will remember me!

"Ma Belle" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Ladies' Home Journal (January 1896) and Poems (1898).

GIFTS, a poem

ONE, in her service, patient wrought,
     Striving a duteous faith to prove;
But at the last, her eyes still sought
     The face of one who gave but love

Grateful, from one she daily drew
     Strength to sustain her failing breath;
But at the last, her spirit knew
     That love is more than life—than death!

"Gifts" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Mine and Thine (1904).

WINTER-SONG, a poem

From the scrapbook of Frances Earle Johnson (sister of Mrs. Coates). Artwork is signed, "Jerry."

Original scan courtesy of Florence Earle Morrisey

TO him who doth remember,
     June evermore is near:
He breathes her rose amid the snows,
     And still he seems to hear
The lark from wintry fields arise
Into the blue of summer skies.

Both April and December
     Time doth to mortals bring,
But in the seed, for future need,
     Eternal waits the Spring;
And there be stars that never set,
For him who knows not to forget.

"Winter-Song" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Unconquered Air (1912) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

A NARROW WINDOW, a poem

A NARROW window may let in the light,
A tiny star dispel the gloom of night,
A little deed a mighty wrong set right.

A rose, abloom, may make a desert fair,
A single cloud may darken all the air,
A spark may kindle ruin and despair.

A smile, and there may be an end to strife;
A look of love, and Hate may sheathe the knife
A word—ah, it may be a word of life!

"A Narrow Window" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Unconquered Air (1912) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

SUPPLIANT, a poem

FATHER, I lift my hands to Thee:
     Reject me not!
Mine eyes are blind, I cannot see.
Be Thou the lamp unto my feet,—
Guide to the rock of my retreat;
O Light, my darkness cries to Thee!
     Reject me not!

Father, mine eyes with tears are wet,
     Reject me not!
Though Thou forgive, shall I forget?
Nay, though thy mercy fall like rain,
My spirit still must bear the pain
And burden of a vast regret.
     Reject me not!

To whom, unfriended, should I flee?
     Reject me not!
To whom, my Father, but to Thee?—
Ah! 't was thy child forgave the sin
Of the repentant Magdalen,
And blessed the thief on Calvary!—
     Reject me not!

"Suppliant" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Poems (1898) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

PILGRIMAGE, a poem

WANDERER from a fading strand
     Unto shadowy shores unknown,
Thou whose sails are onward fanned
By flattering breezes,—hast thou planned
     All thy course alone?

Canst thou tell, now clouds begin
     To gather in thy path of day,
To what harbor thou shalt win,
As the long night closes in
     On a wider way?

Pilgrim, no: I cannot tell.
     Strange my course, and stormy woes
     And darkness may obscure its close;
Yet I feel that all is well,
     For my Pilot knows!  

"Pilgrimage" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Poems (1898) And Poems (1916) Volume II.

THE PILGRIM, a poem

ONCE a man set forth at morning,
Journeying with eager footstep,
Onward over fields new-wakened,
Where the dew lay on the blossoms,
Like to softly gleaming opals.

All the earth, refreshed by slumber,
In the early light and tender
Wore a green, benignant beauty;
And his heart sang high within him,
As the birds sang in the branches.

On he sped with fond impatience,—
While the world took on new wonder,—
Till he came unto a river
Where there waiting stood an angel,
Dark-browed, but with look celestial.

Then, appalled, the pilgrim started:—
"Death! Awaitest thou my coming—
Here where least I thought to meet thee?
It is Love that I am seeking!"

Very gently smiled the angel,
Dark-browed, with the look celestial:
"I am Love,—thyself hast named me;
Yet thou fearest! Lo! I leave thee
Till as now thou come to find me."

     · · · ·      ·      ·      · ·

Once again the man, at sunrise,
Journeyed forth,—his step less buoyant,—
Passing over fields new-wakened,
Where the dew lay on the blossoms
Like to softly gleaming opals.

Once again Earth, fresh from slumber,
In the early light and tender
Wore her green and mystic beauty;
Yet his heart sang not within him
As the birds sang in the branches.

Onward still, without impatience,
Through a world whose charm half pained him,
Journeying,—behold!—the river
And the long-forgotten angel—
Dark-browed, with the look celestial!

As of old, the pilgrim started,
And his pale cheek flushed with anger:
"Death, thy pledge! Thou hast betrayed me!
Naught have I and thou in common:
It is Life that I am seeking!"

With transfiguring smile the angel,
Whose whole look now showed celestial,
Answered:—"Is it Life thou seekest?
Be at rest, thou weary pilgrim!
Seek no further: thou hast found me."

"The Pilgrim" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Lyrics of Life (1909) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

On this day in 1890

Husband Edward Hornor Coates addresses the Art Club of Philadelphia on "The Academy of the Fine Arts and Its Future." Mr. Coates was president of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts (PAFA) from 1890-1906.

The Academy of the Fine Arts and Its Future. "Art sanctifies the sorrow of the world." These are the words of a poet,—of one whose dearest ambition it was, in the early years of his life, to become a painter. But for us—for those of us who have not the happiness to be either poets or painters, whose lines of life have been cast in a mechanical, a railway, an electrical age—a century which, in its special fields of invention, exploration and scientific conquest, claims to have given to the world more than all the ages preceeding it—what shall be said of art? Read more...

PAFA's Historic Landmark Building in 2011
Photo by Sonja N. Bohm

TO FRANCE (1894), a poem

MOTHER of Freedom!  Mother and fond nurse!
     Who, from thy mighty loins, with awful throes
     And cries of anguish bore her!  what new woes
Encompass thee?  What long-forgotten curse
Revives to chill thy soul and dull its seeing?
     Veiled are thy falcon-glances, as in death:
     Thou bleedest, France!  and, sobbing, drawest breath,
Sore smitten by the thing thou gavest being!

Is this thine offspring—once so nobly fair
     That at her look were riven human chains,
     And all men blessed thee for thy travail pains?
Behold!  with serpents writhing in her hair
She stands, Medusa-like, the world appalling!
     Her bloodless cheeks bespeak the vampire's lust;
     Her victims fall before her in the dust;
Yet, unappeased, she still would see them falling.

Is this blest Liberty, this treacherous thing
     That hides its venom 'neath a mask of flowers,
     That smites its own defenders, and devours
The hands that feed it?  This whose rancorous sting
Is uncontrolled by reason?  Red and gory,
     The standard it uplifts on land and sea
     Reveals it truly, hell-born Anarchy!
Which borrows for its shame a name of glory.

Freedom disdains the cruel and the base,
     Their praise she deems inexpiable wrong,
     And in the homage of their savage song
She hears the voice of insult and disgrace.
Scorning the ransomed slaves who rule no better
     Than the oppressors they in wrath hurl down,
     Who make the Phrygian cap a despot's crown,
And others with their broken shackles fetter—

She leaves them to the evils they invoke;
     And listening to the voices of the wild,—
     As listens for the mother's voice her child,—
Courting the tempest and the lightning-stroke,
She opens to the void her pinions regal:
     The clouds, the skies, she knows to be her own,
     And rising to the mountain-summits lone,
She rests where rock the eyries of the eagle!

"To France" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine (January 1895) and Poems (1898).

View events from the year 1894 in France at Wikipedia.

THE MAN-SOUL, a poem

HE made it pure—
More pure than deep-sea water, or the dew
Distilled in mountain hollows: made it true
     As heaven's o'er-arching blue,
Or as that orb that doth the main secure,
The lonely mariner's guiding cynosure.
     He made it sweet
     As lover's lips that meet
For the first time, with tremulous delight;
Or as the tears that more than half requite
Their pain after long parting: made it brave,
     Fearless of wind or wave;
A tameless thing with aspiration filled,
That dares where eagles may not nest, to build!

"The Man-Soul" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Unconquered Air (1912) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

TO-MORROW, a poem

THE robin chants when the thrush is dumb,
     Snow smooths a bed for the clover,
Life flames anew, and days to come
     Are sweet as the days that are over.

The tide that ebbs by the moon flows back,
     Faith builds on the ruins of sorrow,
The halcyon flutters in winter's track,
     And night makes way for the morrow.

And ever a strain, of joys the sum,
     Sings on in the heart of the lover—
In death sings on—that days to come
     Are sweet as the days that are over!

"To-morrow" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Poems (1898) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

JEAN-FRANÇOIS MILLET, a poem

NOT far from Paris, in fair Fontainebleau,
     A lovely, memory-haunted hamlet lies,
     Whose tender spell makes captive, and defies
Forgetfulness. The peasants come and go,—
Their backs too used to stoop,—and patient sow
     The harvest which their narrow need supplies;
     Even as when, Earth's pathos in his eyes,
Millet dwelt here, companion of their woe.

Loved Barbizon! With thorns, not laurels, crowned,
He looked thy sorrows in the face, and found—
     Vital as seed warm nestled in the sod—
The hidden sweetness at the heart of pain;
Trusting thy sun and dew, thy wind and rain,
     At home with nature, and at one with God!

"Jean-François Millet" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Atlantic Monthly (November 1904), Mine and Thine (1904) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

The Gleaners (1857)
by Jean-François Millet
Wikimedia Commons

Jean-François Millet died on this day in 1875.

TO A POET, a poem

GIVE us one dream!—
One swift, authentic vision
Of perfect loveliness to snatch the breath:
One glimpse into unchartered realms elysian
Where never cometh death!

Sing us one song
Whose accent is immortal—
Enduring as the asphodel, the flower
That blooms unfading nigh to Hades' portal:
Sing us one song of power!

Brief, if you will,—
A word of life transforming:
A word hope's wearied vision to restore:
A vital word, our human heart-blood warming,
And . . . you need write no more!

"To a Poet" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Poems (1916) Volume I.

A MAID'S DEFENCE, a poem

'TWERE little to renounce what now I hold:
     A treasure that makes poor, a pomp that tires,
     A vernal glow that kindles autumn fires,
A youth that, wasteful in its haste, grows old;
'T were little to relinquish pleasure doled
     In meagre measure to my swift desires,
     To give what nor delights me nor inspires,
In free exchange for Love's all-prizèd gold;

Yet there is something it were pain to yield,
     Which I should part with, Love, in welcoming thee:
     A shy uncertainty that dearer seems
Than e'en thy gifts, my firm defence and shield:
     The dim ideal of my waking dreams,
     The Love unknown, that distant, beckons me!

"A Maid's Defence" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Poems (1898) and Poems (1916) Volume I.

WHY DID YOU GO? a poem

Man and Woman on the Beach (1893) and Edwardian Woman on the Beach (1900)
by Thomas Pollock Anshutz
Wikimedia Commons

DEATH called,—but why did you go?
     Did you not know
That life is better than death,
That snatches the breath
Out of joy?—that love is better than death?

     Did you not understand
     How guarded the Land
Where death leads?—that howe'er the heart yearn,
One may never return
     From the gloom
Of that dwelling-place lone that doth hold and entomb?

     O my sweet!
Might I follow your feet,—
Afar from the sun and the bloom-scented air,
     I would open once more
     The inexorable door,
And drink of dark Lethe, your prison to share!

"Why Did You Go?" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Unconquered Air (1912) and Poems (1916) Volume I.

LET ME BELIEVE, a poem

LET me believe you, love, or let me die!
     If on your faith I may not rest secure,
     Beyond all chance of peradventure sure,
     Trusting your half-avowals sweet and shy,
As trusts the lark the pallid, dawn-lit sky—
     Then would I rather in some grave obscure
     Repose forlorn, than living on, endure
     A question each dear transport to belie!

It is a pain to thirst and do without,
     A pain to suffer what we deem unjust,
     To win a joy—and lay it in the dust;
But there's a fiercer pain—the pain of doubt;
     From other griefs Death sets the spirit free;
     Doubt steals the light from immortality!

"Let Me Believe" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Poems (1898) and Poems (1916) Volume I.

PERDITA, a poem

Mary Anderson as Perdita
in Shakespeare's Winter's Tale, 1887

Mary Anderson performed in Shakespeare's Winter's Tale at the Chestnut Street Opera House in Philadelphia in January of 1889. It is possible that Florence Earle Coates was in attendance during that time, as "Perdita" was published later that year.

Of Anderson's Philadelphia performance, The American (19 January 1889) reports

"That a great success was achieved by Miss Anderson in the fourth act, when, as Perdita, she lead the rinca fada, or long dance, the dance of the shepherds and shepherdesses, there is not the slightest doubt. The vast audience,—one of those famous "coldly critical, unsympathetic Philadelphia audiences" one has heard so much about,—was aroused to positive enthusiasm over it; and it was only when the point of physical exhaustion was neared, that the "queen of curds and cream" was allowed to dismiss her fleeting shepherd lads and take needed rest in the arms of her beloved Florizel."

PERDITA

(ON SEEING MISS ANDERSON IN THE RÔLE)

SHE dances,
     And I seem to be
     In primrose vales of Sicily,
Beside the streams once looked upon
By Thyrsis and by Corydon:
The sunlight laughs as she advances,
     Shyly the zephyrs kiss her hair,
And she seems to me as the wood-fawn, free,
     And as the wild rose, fair.

Dance, Perdita! and shepherds, blow!
     Your reeds restrain no longer!
Till weald and welkin gleeful ring,
Blow, shepherds, blow! and, lasses, sing,
     Yet sweeter strains and stronger!
Let far Helorus softer flow
'Twixt rushy banks, that he may hear;
Let Pan, great Pan himself, draw near!

               Stately
          She moves, half smiling
     With girlish look beguiling,—
A dawn-like grace in all her face;
     Stately she moves, sedately,
     Through the crowd circling round her;
               But—swift as light—
               See! she takes flight!
     Empty, alas! is her place.

Follow her, follow her, let her not go!
               Mirth ended so—
               Why, 't is but woe!
Follow her, follow her! Perdita!—lo,
          Love hath with wreaths enwound her!

               She dances,
          And I seem to see
The nymph divine, Terpsichore,
As when her beauty dazzling shone
On eerie heights of Helicon.
With bursts of song her voice entrances
     The dreamy, blossom-scented air,
And she seems to me as the wood-fawn, free,
     And as the wild rose, fair.

"Perdita" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Century Magazine (December 1889), Poems (1898) and Poems (1916) Volume I.

RETROSPECT, a poem

HOW had it been, my belovèd,
Had Fate united us sooner,—
In the bright days when our hearts
First dreamed of loving?—

When, a thrice exquisite vision,
Hope, all her lute-strings unbroken,
Smilingly beckoned us on,
Wooed us to follow?—

When our youth, eager, expectant,—
Trusting the north as the south wind,
Hardly, its pulses a-throb,
Staid life's unfolding?

Had I been more to you, dearer,
Bearing my myrtle and roses,
Than, as I came, crowned with rue,
Weighted with sorrow,

Seeing both light and its shadow,
Taught both of truth and illusion,
Knowing earth's rapture and pain,
Sharing earth's travail?

More had I been to you—dearer?...
Deep in my heart a voice answers,
Healing the sense of unworth,
Whispering comfort:—

"Love takes no counsel of prudence;
Wherefore men, timid and doubting,
Marvelling oft at his choice,
Charge him with blindness;

"But—this believe!—not Apollo,
Clothed in his glory celestial,
Bears such a light in his breast
As that which Eros

"Holds in the heart of his darkness,
Guards as a torch never failing,
Given to guide him where waits
His sole desire!"

"Retrospect" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Lyrics of Life (1909) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

THE HERMIT, a poem

The Hermit Thrush
Wikimedia Commons

LISTEN! O listen! 'T is the thrush—God bless him!
     How marvellously sweet the song he sings!
All Nature seems to listen and caress him,
     And Silence even closer folds her wings
Lest she should miss one faintly-throbbing note
Of high-wrought rapture, from that flute-like throat.

The warbling world, itself, is hushed about him;
     No bird essays the amœbean strain:
Each knows the soul of Music—full without him—
     Could bear no more, and rivalry were vain.
So, Daphnis singing in the tamarisk shade,
All things grew silent, of a sound afraid.

The aspens by the lake have ceased to shiver,
     As if the very zephyrs held their breath:
Hearken how, wave on wave, with notes that quiver,
     It rises now—that song of life and death!
"O holy! holy!" Was it Heaven that called
My spirit, by love's ecstasy enthralled?

"The Hermit" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Harper's Monthly Magazine (January 1909), Lyrics of Life (1909) and Poems (1916) Volume I.

THE LOVE OF LIFE, a poem

MY son is dead!" the aged woman wailed,
     "My son, who was the only help I had!
     My good, good son is dead—my faithful lad
Who ne'er in duty to his mother failed!"

Eager to comfort her distress, I spoke
     Words that have solaced many a soul bereaved
     Since kingly David uttered them when, grieved,
First to its final loss his heart awoke.

"Though he, indeed, shall not to you return,
     Yet, sorrowing mother, you shall go to him.
     Lo, even now, your lamp of life burns dim,
And you may find him soon for whom you yearn!"

Sudden the tears ceased on that face of woe
     As the poor creature turned my words to meet,
     And sighed, to my amaze:—"Still, life is sweet!"
Then I perceived she had no wish to go.

"The Love of Life" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Unconquered Air (1912).

THE MIRROR, a poem

POET, why wilt thou wander far afield?
     Turn again home! There, also, Nature sings,
     And to thy heart, her magic-mirror, brings
All images of life: thence will she yield
Every emotion in Man's breast concealed:
     Love, hate, ambition,—hope, that heavenward wings,—
     The peasant's toil, the care that waits on kings,—
All, in thy heart's clear crystal, full revealed.

Hast thou forgotten? One there was who turning
     His poet-vision inward, through the years,
Found Falstaff's wit, and Prospero's high yearning,
     Shared Hamlet's doubt, the madness that was Lear's,
Saw Wolsey's pride, and Romeo's passion, burning,—
     Knew Desdemona's truth, and felt her tears!

"The Mirror" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Lyrics of Life (1909) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

Study for Mariana in the South (ca. 1897)
by John William Waterhouse
Wikimedia Commons

Keyword: Shakespeare

On Twitter @WorldsAspire

@WorldsAspire

IN DREAMLAND, a poem

IN dreamland is a castle fair
     Wherein my love doth dwell:
Its turrets waver into air
     From fields where asphodel
And poppy keep not watch, but sleep,
     'Neath an enchanter's spell.

Pale offspring of a starlit sky,
     One rose—for need like mine—
Has over-climbed the ivies high,
     About her sill to twine,
And there, abloom, with rare perfume
     Makes exquisite her shrine.

Still, night by night, the wondrous bird
     That ne'er is heard by day,
Thrills, with my heart's unspoken word,
     Those mystic turrets gray,
And heavened above, sings to my love
     His plaintive roundelay.

Ah, would that I, through tender gloom
     Upmounting, lover-wise,
Might find her in the fragrant room,—
     Her virgin Paradise,—
But for one night behold the light
     Beam in her charmèd eyes!

Alas! I shall nor lead her down
     The steep and skyey stair,
Nor find her here in the dull town,
     The sunlight on her hair,—
Yet, could we meet, my heart would greet
     And know her anywhere!

"In Dreamland" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Harper's Bazar (March 1913), The Unconquered Air (1912) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

LULLABY, a poem

DAY is stealing down the West,
     Tender, drowsy sounds are heard;
     Closer now each downy bird
Creeps 'neath mother-wings to rest.
In the fading sky afar,
     Kindled by some angel hand,
Twinkling comes a tiny star,—
     Baby's guide to Sleepy-Land.

Cooler, darker grows the air,
     Eerie shadows haunt the room;
In the garden, through the gloom,
     'Wildering bats and owlets fare;
But the lambs and birdies seem
     Happy now at home to keep,
And a darling little dream
     Smiles at baby in his sleep.

"Lullaby" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Harper's Bazar (May 1912), The Unconquered Air (1912) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

OF FUTURE DAYS, a poem

       I DO not ask to know
Whither thy spirit after death shall go;
I only ask that I—where'er thou be—
          May follow thee.

       All torment and regret
Thou, with thy love, couldst teach me to forget;
And heaven—Alas! what hope of heaven for me
          Bereft of thee?

       Nay: faithless doubt and fear
I lose in Him who gave thee to me, dear!
He would not so unite to rend apart,
          Who made the heart!

"Of Future Days" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Reader Magazine (March 1904), Mine and Thine (1904) and Poems (1916) Volume I.

MY DREAM, a poem

          THOUGH full of care
I tread the round
Of toil in which man's eager life is bound,
I faint not 'neath the load I bear;
For grievous though the burden sometimes be,
               I dream of thee!

          And when, at night,
I lie enwound
In silence that is sweeter than all sound,
The darkness, kindlier than light,
Shuts out the busy world awhile, and free,
               I dream of thee!

          Like to a breath
Of fragrance blown
From some shy blossom, hidden and alone,
Redeeming frost and wintry death,
So ever comes, like scent of bloom to me,
               My dream of thee!

"My Dream" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Smart Set (November 1902), Mine and Thine (1904) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

On this day in 1879

Florence Van Leer Earle Nicholson marries Edward Hornor Coates on this day in 1879 at Christ Church, Philadelphia. Both had lost spouses; Florence in 1877 (Wm. Nicholson, Jr.) and Edward in 1874 (Ella May Potts). Florence had a daughter from her previous marriage, Alice Earle Nicholson.

Christ Church, Philadelphia in 1876
Wikimedia Commons

MIGHT I RETURN, a poem

MIGHT I return to that May-day of gladness
     When life is young, and all its promise fair;
Might I efface each memory of sadness,
     And put away the weary load of care,—
To pluck the rose that in Time's Eden blows,
     I would not go, were I to miss you there!

Might I ascend unto those realms of rapture
     Whose amaranthine joys fade not again,
Might I the secrets of Elysium capture,
     And find fruition for my longings vain,—
I would forego these dear delights, to know
     That you were with me, and to share your pain.

"Might I Return" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Lippincott's Monthly Magazine (July 1896), Poems (1898) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

HE AND I, a poem

HE and I,—and that was all,—
The boundless world had grown so small:
     So small, so narrow in content,
So single in possession sweet,
So personal, so love-complete,
     So still, so eloquent!

He and I,—and Earth made new!
The flowers blossomed for us two,
     And birds, to voice our rapture, sung
Divinely 'neath our northern skies,
As sung the birds in Paradise
     When life and love were young!

He and I,—O aching heart!—
Only a narrow grave apart!
     Yet seeking for his face in vain,
How changed, to me, the world has grown;
How cold it seems, how strange, how lone,
     How infinite in pain!

"He and I" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Poems (1898) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

AFTER, a poem

"After." A poem by Florence Earle Coates.  Illustration by V.A.B.
Folded card (Laurel series, I-3) 

The image is of a folded card from the Laurel Series, with corrections made and signed by Mrs. Coates—likely prior to final production.  It was created ca. 1914 or 1915, based on the series number (I-3) recorded on the back as compared with other Laurel Series cards listed in copyright catalogs online.  The illustrator's initials are "VAB." This version of the poem leaves out the third stanza, which reads:

After the heat of anger,
   Love that all life enwraps;
After the stress of battle,
   The trumpet sounding "taps."

On the back.

"After" was first published in the 24 March 1906 issue of The Outlook, with the first line of the last stanza then reading, "After regret and doubting."  On "Easter 1906" (April 19), Mrs. Coates sent a handwritten copy of "After" to composer Amy Cheney Beach (Mrs. H. H. A. Beach).  Sometime between then and September of 1908, Mrs. Beach would set the poem to music, suggesting to Mrs. Coates that the line instead read, "After despair and doubting."  Mrs. Coates replied to Mrs. Beach, in a letter written on 8 September 1908, and thanked her "sensitive genius for a very great improvement which [she] shall straightway adopt." [Letters accessed: Amy Cheney Beach Papers, Milne Special Collections, University of New Hampshire Library, Durham NH].

After. Op. 68. Words by Florence Earle Coates; music by Mrs. H. H. A. Beach. High and low voice. Words also printed as text. Caption title. 1 score (7 p.) ; 35 cm. Boston : Arthur P. Schmidt. (1909)

The poem was subsequently published (with text change applied) in Lyrics of Life (1909) and in Poems (1916) Vol. II.

Retouch of original image, to include Mrs. Coates' correction.  

MUSIC, a poem

THE might of music, and its mystic fire,
     Will from no studied Art alone proceed;
The soul of Orpheus must infuse the lyre,
     The breath of Pan must blow the plaintive reed.

Inscription in a copy of The Unconquered Air (1912)
"for dear Helen / with the constant love of / Florence Earle Coates / Easter 1916"

"Music" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Poems (1898) and Poems (1916) Volume I.  A word change was made between versions, with "thrill" becoming "infuse."

AFTER THE PAINTINGS BY GEORGE F. WATTS

Love and Death (1883)
by G. F. Watts

I

LOVE AND DEATH

A MOMENT, Death!—only a moment more!
     She is my all; have pity! stay thy hand!
     Behold, a fearful suppliant I stand!
Take not away what thou canst not restore!

At thy approach the birds have ceased to sing,
     The roses of my lintel droop and pine,
     The genial sun itself doth coldly shine,
And in thy shadow all seems darkening.

That thou art merciless, as men declare,
     I'll not believe. Thy look is kind, not stern;
     And they who judge thee ill, of me shall learn
To know thee better, Death!—for thou wilt spare!

See, thou art strong! and I am weak—so weak!
     All beings that draw breath at last are thine:
     Thou wilt not covet this sole joy of mine—
Nor to deprive me of its solace seek?

Yet come no nearer! Shouldst thou pass this door,
     My heart that so importunes thee would break.
     Go back a little! for compassion's sake,
Go back! and hither—ah, return no more!

In vain, in vain! O awful Majesty!
     Thy very breath appalls my fluttering heart.
     Invader dread, what strength have I, or art—
What, save my anguish, to oppose 'gainst thee? . . .

Enter! the door is open. Yet thus much
     Let my submission of thy pity earn:
     When through the shaded portal thou return,
On me—me, also, lay thy easeful touch!

Love and Life (1885)
by G. F. Watts

II

LOVE AND LIFE

THY hand I press,
     And am not much afraid:
     Though danger lie in wait in every glade,
Thou, Love, hast might to comfort and caress
My helplessness.

The way is steep;
     But thou wilt soothe its pain;
     And when at last the utmost height we gain,
To the soft shelter of thy wings I'll creep,
And sleep—and sleep.

The way is long;
     But though I wearied be,
     Still gazing upward, I shall gaze on thee;
And thy angelic voice, more sweet than song,
Will make me strong.

Whate'er betide,
     I, Love,—who may not know
     Whence I have journeyed, nor the way I go,—
Am still content to follow at thy side,
O deathless guide!

"After the Paintings by George F. Watts" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Reader (January 1907), Lyrics of Life (1909) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

RENEWAL, a poem

THESE sounds sonorous rolling!
     These vibrant tones and clear!
Listen! The bells are tolling
     The requiem of the year:
The year that dies, as mute it lies
     Mid fallen leaves and sere!

Now by the fading embers
     That on the hearthstone glow,
How sadly one remembers
     The things of long ago:
The wistful things, with flame-bright wings,
     That vanished long ago!

The self-effacing sorrow,
     The generous desire,
The pledges for the morrow,
     Enkindled at this fire!—
Enkindled here, O dying year!
     Where smoulders low thy pyre.

What hope and what ambition,
     What dreams beyond recall!
And look we for fruition,
     To find them ashes all?
Is life the wraith of love—of faith?
     Then let the darkness fall!

The sparks—how fast they dwindle!
     How faint their being glows!
Quickly the fire rekindle—
     Ah, quickly! ere it goes!
Woo living breath from the lips of death!—
     From ashes bring the rose!

              ·     ·     ·     ·     ·     ·     ·     ·

Kind God! The bells, in gladness!
     The rose of hope hath bloomed!
For, consecrating sadness,
     Life hath its own resumed,
And welcomes here the new-born year—
     A phœnix, unconsumed!

"Renewal" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Harper's Monthly Magazine (December 1903), Mine and Thine (1904) and Poems (1916) Volume II.