Poems (Van Rensselaer)/Hearthstones
HEARTHSTONES
I
I am a woman who sits here with Life
By the dead ashes of the fire of love.
I am but young, yet he, bending above
The hearth that grows the colder for our tears,
Is wan and gray, outwearied with the strife
To keep some spark alight through the slow years.
Who now shall warm and comfort him? and how shall I
Bear with his days and nights who know not how to try?
I am a woman who sits here with Life
By the dead ashes of the fire of love.
I am but young, yet he, bending above
The hearth that grows the colder for our tears,
Is wan and gray, outwearied with the strife
To keep some spark alight through the slow years.
Who now shall warm and comfort him? and how shall I
Bear with his days and nights who know not how to try?
II
Here I, a woman, sit with Love beside
The fire of life, and watch its embers glow
Still with a ruddy light though burning low.
He ever young, I counting not my years,
As we have sat for long shall so abide,
Handfast, until the Messenger appears.
Heart, heart, how sweet is still the laughter in Love's eyes,
How warm the lingering fire upon the hearthstone lies!
Here I, a woman, sit with Love beside
The fire of life, and watch its embers glow
Still with a ruddy light though burning low.
He ever young, I counting not my years,
As we have sat for long shall so abide,
Handfast, until the Messenger appears.
Heart, heart, how sweet is still the laughter in Love's eyes,
How warm the lingering fire upon the hearthstone lies!