Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SOMETIMES, by LOUISA F. STORY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SOMETIMES, by                    
First Line: Sometimes - not often - when the days are long
Last Line: Sometimes?
Subject(s): Time


SOMETIMES -- not often -- when the days are long,
And golden lie the ripening fields of grain,
Like cadence of some half-forgotten song,
There sweeps a memory across my brain.
I hear the handrail far among the grass,
The drowsy murmur in the scented lanes;
I watch the radiant butterflies that pass,
And I am sad and sick at heart sometimes --
Sometimes.

Sometimes, when royal winter holds his sway,
When every cloud is swept from azure skies,
And frozen pool and lighted hearth are gay
With laughing lips and yet more laughing eyes,
From far-off days an echo wanders by,
That makes a discord in the Christmas chimes;
A moment in the dance or talk I sigh,
And seem half lonely in the crowd sometimes --
Sometimes.

Not often, not for long. O friend, my friend,
We were not lent our life that we might weep:
The flower-crowned May of earth hath soon an end;
Should our fair spring a longer sojourn keep?
Comes all too soon the time of fading leaves,
Come on the cold short days. We must arise
And go our way, and garner home our sheaves,
Though some far faint regret may cloud our eyes
Sometimes.

Sometimes I see a light almost divine
In meeting eyes of two that now are one.
Impatient of the tears that rise to mine,
I turn away to seek some work undone.
There dawns a look upon some stranger face;
I think, "How like, and yet how far less fair!"
And look, and look again, and seek to trace
A moment more your fancied likeness there --
Sometimes.

O sad, sweet thoughts! O foolish, vain regrets!
As wise it were, what time June roses blow,
To weep because the first blue violet
We found in spring has faded long ago.
O love, my love, if yet by song of bird,
By flower-scent, by some sad poet's rhymes,
My heart, that fain would be at peace, is stirred,
Am I to blame that still I sigh sometimes? --
Sometimes?

And sometimes know a pang of jealous pain,
That, while I walk all lonely, other eyes
May haply smile to yours that smile again
Beneath the sun and stars of Southern skies.
The past is past; but is it sin, if yet
I, who in calm content would seek to dwell,
Who will not grieve, yet cannot quite forget,
Still send a thought to you, and wish you well
Sometimes?





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