Recently Discovered Unpublished Poems of Sam L. Simpson

In a chamber rich with wedded colorA maiden loosed her lustrous hair,Like a young moon meshed in threaded sun-lightHer beauty throbbed in the tressy snare.Oh, she was fair as a rose-lipped lily —A rosy marble of molded song,And around her lips fond thoughts were hummingLike sweet-faint bees that feast too long.Love will surely come tomorrow,Even now his glowing feetDash the dappled shore of darknessInto blushes warm and sweet,And his wavering, ruby arrowPledges heaven to me tomorrow.

Awhile she stood in the rippled splendorOf amber tresses all unbound.And the irised clouds of castled dreamlandEver her sea-deep soul surround.And the dear eyes drooped with a suddenlanguor,And over her curving lips a shadeOf far, faint trouble fell and flitted.As she gathered her hair in a careless braid.Love will surely come tomorrow;But if love inconstant beDeath had better wear my favorAs a faithful knight to me;Better, if love assail with sorrow,Death should be my guest tomorrow.

And the twin-sphered bosom, like camelias,White-clustered round twin buds of rose,Now loose a gilded swarm of star-beamsTo feed upon her sweet repose;As the lashes, brown as twilight shadows,Droop softly o'er the sapphire eyes,And around her lips the bashful dimpleOf love's young hope entranced lies.Love will surely come tomorrow;All the roses at the gateLean their dewy heads togetherAs they whisper, "Dream and wait!"Many maids a wreath will borrowWhen they greet their loves tomorrow."

And the moon uprose: her slender sickle

From steep to steep was handed on.And all the harvest gold of midnightIn sheafy splendor showered down:An angel, from the fretted casementOf one far star, on wings of pearl,Kent tryst with her, upon her bosomOne moment lay his fraerrant curl.Love will surely come tomorrow;Whom the angels kiss at night.'Neath the vermeil arch of morningEver find their soul's delight —Never more a doubt will harrow,Love will surely come tomorrow.

And the morning broke, its beryl billowFringed with scarlet foam outspread,And the day had burst its dewy calyx,And flamed in blossom overhead;But the maiden, pale as some wan flower,In whose pure chalice love had burnedIts magic perfumes, lay unlittenHeart and hope to ashes turned.Death will often claim the morrowWe have wreathen with desire,Often hope but decks the altarWhere her flames at last expire.Yet, if love assail with sorrow,Death were truer king tomorrow.

The temples of youth are decaying

In Beutah, the beautiful vale,And my life has been wearily straying

Away from its beautiful pale,Where the waters of Marah are sobbing

The sorrow ot desolate years —The sorrow and tremulous throbbing

Of hopes that have darkened to fears.Forever, forever, forever,The dolorous song of the river,

The wail of the river of tears.

In Beulah, a ring-belted river,

That danced in a garland of pearl,First sang the refrain of forever

With many a wimple and swirl,And the flag-flowers bent in the rushes

For a touch of the fanciful stream,And the roses in redolent blushes

Were aflame with the magical dream.Forever, forever, forever,Was the song of the ring-belted river,

The refrain of a beautiful theme.

And love, with red lips, in the pauses

Of passion took up the refrain,And the birds, in their rapturous clauses

Of silence to listen were fain;But the leaves in a silvery quiver

Of mystery whispered the breezeThat a rainbow of crimson would ever

Rekindle the blossom of ease.Forever, forever, forever.Was the song of the jubilant river,

In the odorous haunts of the bees.

Where the mountains, in desolate places,

Are kneeling, bare-kneed, in the sand,And my Sphinxes, with mystical faces,

Are gazing in revery grand — ■The garlands I twined by the river

Are fillets of flame on my brow,And the crystalline chime of forever

Is the dirge of Elysium now.Forever, forever, forever,Alas, for the musical riverThat sang me the treacherous vow.

The stars, on their cold eminences,May weave immortelles of the light,But my soul, in its vapor of senses,Is crowned with the sorrow of night;And the oceans may chant, as they followThe glittering shield of the moon,But their music is weary and hollow —A gloomy, unsyllabled rune.Forever, forever, forever,Is a lonesome refrain, if it severA soul from the loves of its June.

There's an odor of death in the flowersThat droop in this chaplet of mine;Believe me, in sunnier hoursThey breathed an aroma divine —And so I shall wear them forever,Thus drying in garlands of death,As I turn with sick lips and a shiverFrom the kiss of a following wraith.Forever, forever, forever,Is the song of a shadowless riverThat shall heal the old sorrows of faith.