THE ANSWERING VOICE
ONE HUNDRED LOVE LYRICS BY WOMEN

THE ANSWERING VOICE

ONE HUNDRED LOVE LYRICS BY WOMEN

SELECTED BY
SARA TEASDALE

AUTHOR OF “RIVERS TO THE SEA,” “HELEN OF TROY, AND OTHER POEMS,” ETC.

BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1917

COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY SARA TEASDALE FILSINGER

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published September 1917

THE HAPPY LABOR

OF SELECTING THESE POEMS

I DEDICATE TO

MY SISTER

Ἔρος δαὔτέ μ᾽ ὀ λυσιμέλης δόνει

γλυκύπικρον ἀμάχανον ὄρπετον.

“Ο gods, what love, what yearnings contributed to this.”

PREFATORY NOTE

I have tried to bring together in this book the most beautiful love-lyrics written in English by women since the middle of the last century. During this period, for the first time in the history of English literature, the work of women has compared favorably with that of men; and in no other field have they done such noteworthy work as in poetry. Before this period, for reasons well known to the student of feminism, sincere love poems by women were very rare in England and America. With the exception of Lady Barnard’s “Auld Robin Gray” and a poem by Susanna Blamire, I have found nothing that seemed worthy of inclusion.

In most cases the finest utterance of women poets has been on love, so that this book is, I venture to hope, a golden treasury of lyrics by women.

I have included no long poems, and no translations, and I have avoided poems in which the poet dramatized a man’s feelings rather than her own.

I want to acknowledge very gratefully my indebtedness for counsel and suggestions to Harriet Monroe, Jessie B. Rittenhouse, Louis Untermeyer, Henry L. Mencken, William Stanley Braithwaite, Thomas S. Jones, Jr., John Hall Wheelock, and Thomas B. Mosher. From my husband, Ernst B. Filsinger, I have received unfailing aid and encouragement.

Sara Teasdale

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks are due the following publishers and authors for permission to include selections from the volumes enumerated below:—

To Mr. Richard G. Badger (Boston) for poems from “April Twilights,” by Willa Sibert Cather, and “The Dancers,” by Edith M. Thomas.

To Messrs. Benziger Brothers (New York) for a poem from “Irish Poems,” by Katharine Tynan.

To Messrs. William Blackwood & Sons (Edinburgh) for a poem from “Songs of the Glens of Antrim,” by Moira O’Neill.

To Mr. Edmund D. Brooks (Minneapolis) for a poem from “A Lark Went Singing,” by Ruth Guthrie Harding.

To Messrs. Burns & Oates (London) for a poem from “Poems,” by Alice Meynell.

To Messrs. Chatto & Windus (London) for poems from “Songs to Save a Soul,” by Irene Rutherford McLeod.

To Messrs. W. B. Conkey Company (Chicago) for a poem from “Poems of Passion,” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

To Country Life (London) for a poem from “The Country Life Anthology,” by Margaret Sackville.

To Messrs. George H. Doran Company (New York) for poems from “In Deep Places,” by Amelia Josephine Burr.

To Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Co. (New York) for a poem from “The Far Country,” by Florence Wilkinson.

To Messrs. Duffield & Co. (New York) for poems from “The Book of Love,” by Elsa Barker, and “Gypsy Verses,” by Helen Hay Whitney.

To Messrs. Funk & Wagnalls Company (New York) for a poem from “The Four Winds of Eirinn,” by Ethna Carbery.

To Messrs. Gay & Hancock, Limited (London), for a poem from “Poems of Passion,” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

To Mr. S. B. Grundy (Toronto) for a poem from “The Lamp of Poor Souls,” by Marjorie L. C. Pickthall.

To Messrs. Harper & Brothers (New York) for a poem from “Flower o’ the Grass,” by Ada Foster Murray.

To Mr. William Heinemann (London) for poems from “The Golden Threshold,” by Sarojini Naidu, and “India’s Love Lyrics,” by Laurence Hope.

To Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company (Boston and New York) for poems from “The Sister of the Wind” and “Little Gray Songs from St. Joseph’s,” by Grace Fallow Norton; “The Singing Leaves,” by Josephine Preston Peabody; “Collected Poems,” by Florence Earle Coates; “Happy Ending,” by Louise Imogen Guiney; “A Handful of Lavender,” and “A Quiet Road,” by Lizette Woodworth Reese; “Afternoons of April,” by Grace Hazard Conkling; “The Shoes that Danced,” by Anna Hempstead Branch, and “A Marriage Cycle,” by Alice Freeman Palmer.

To Mr. B. W. Huebsch (New York) for poems from “Songs to Save a Soul,” by Irene Rutherford McLeod.

To Mr. Mitchell Kennerley (New York) for poems from “The Joy o’ Life,” by Theodosia Garrison, and “Interpretations,” by Zoë Akins.

To Messrs. John Lane Company (New York) for poems from “The Lamp of Poor Souls,” by Marjorie L. C. Pickthall; “The Golden Threshold,” by Sarojini Naidu; “India’s Love Lyrics,” by Laurence Hope, and “Poems,” by Rosamund Marriott Watson.

To Mr. John Lane, The Bodley Head (London) for poems from “The Lamp of Poor Souls,” by Marjorie L. Pickthall, and “Poems,” by Rosamund Marriott Watson.

To Messrs. Little, Brown & Co. (Boston) for poems from “Poems” (Second and Third Series), by Emily Dickinson.

To The Macmillan Company (New York) for poems from “Poems,” by Christina Rossetti; “Sword Blades and Poppy Seed,” by Amy Lowell; “Myself and I,” and “Crack o’ Dawn,” by Fannie Stearns Davis; “You and I,” by Harriet Monroe, and “Songs of the Glens of Antrim,” by Moira O’Neill.

To Messrs. Macmillan & Co., Limited (London), for poems from “Poems,” by Christina Rossetti, and “Artemis to Actæon and Other Verse,” by Edith Wharton.

To Mr. Thomas B. Mosher (Portland, Maine) for poems from “An Italian Garden,” by A. Mary F. Robinson; “The Flower from the Ashes and Other Verse,” by Edith M. Thomas, and “A Wayside Lute,” by Lizette Woodworth Reese.

To Grant Richards, Limited (London), for poems from “The Man with a Hammer,” by Anna Wickham, and “Interpretations,” by Zoë Akins.

To Alston Rivers, Limited (London), for a poem from “Selected Poems,” by Nora Chesson.

To Messrs. Charles Scribner’s Sons (New York) for poems from “Artemis to Actæon and Other Verse,” by Edith Wharton; “Poems,” by Alice Meynell; “Songs about Life, Love and Death,” by Anne Reeve Aldrich; “Beyond the Sunset,” by Julia C. R. Dorr; “The Cycle’s Rim,” by Olive Tilford Dargan, and “The Call of Brotherhood,” by Corinne Roosevelt Robinson.

To The Strange Company (San Francisco) for poems from “Poems,” by Nora May French.

To T. Fisher Unwin, Limited (London), for poems from “An Italian Garden,” by A. Mary F. Robinson, and “A London Plane Tree,” by Amy Levy.

To The John C. Winston Company (Philadelphia) for poems from “Factories with Other Lyrics,” by Margaret Widdemer.

And to the editors of Poetry for permission to reprint poems by Helen Dudley, Alice Corbin, and Jean Starr Untermeyer; to The Independent for a poem by Helen Hoyt; to The Trimmed Lamp for a poem by Marguerite Wilkinson; to McClure’s Magazine for a poem by Jessie B. Rittenhouse; to The Smart Set for a poem by Muna Lee; to The Century for poems by Mary Carolyn Davies and Eunice Tietjens; to The Forum for a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay; to Much Ado for poems by Zoë Akins; and to The Manas Press (Rochester, New York) for a poem by Adelaide Crapsey.

CONTENTS

THE ANSWERING VOICE

SOMEWHERE OR OTHER

Somewhere or other there must surely be

The face not seen, the voice not heard,

The heart that not yet—never yet—ah, me!

Made answer to my word.

Somewhere or other, maybe near or far;

Past land and sea, clean out of sight;

Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star

That tracks her night by night.

Somewhere or other, maybe far or near;

With just a wall, a hedge, between;

With just the last leaves of the dying year

Fallen on a turf grown green.

Christina Rossetti

THE BIRCH TREE AT LOSCHWITZ

At Loschwitz above the city

The air is sunny and chill;

The birch trees and the pine trees

Grow thick upon the hill.

Lone and tall, with silver stem,

A birch tree stands apart;

The passionate wind of spring-time

Stirs in its leafy heart.

I lean against the birch tree,

My arms around it twine;

It pulses, and leaps, and quivers,

Like a human heart to mine.

One moment I stand, then sudden

Let loose mine arms that cling:

O God! the lonely hillside,

The passionate wind of spring!

Amy Levy

TO ONE UNKNOWN

I have seen the proudest stars

That wander on through space,

Even the sun and moon,

But not your face.

I have heard the violin,

The winds and waves rejoice

In endless minstrelsy;

Yet not your voice.

I have touched the trillium,

Pale flower of the land,

Coral, anemone,

And not your hand.

I have kissed the shining feet

Of Twilight lover-wise,

Opened the gates of Dawn—

Oh, not your eyes!

I have dreamed unwonted things,

Visions that witches brew,

Spoken with images,

Never with you.

Helen Dudley

“I HAVE WANDERED TO A SPRING”

I have wandered to a spring in the forest green and dim,

The sweet quiet stirs about me—

The water twinkles at me,

As I stoop to dip my cup,

As I stoop to drink—to him.

True, I’m only half in earnest—I touch the cool, wet brim—

He’d laugh if he could see me—

I’m glad he doesn’t see me,

As alone with my queer gladness,

I stoop to drink—to him.

Edna Wahlert McCourt

LOVE ME AT LAST

Love me at last, or if you will not,

Leave me;

Hard words could never, as these half-words,

Grieve me:

Love me at last—or leave me.

Love me at last, or let the last word uttered

Be but your own;

Love me, or leave me—as a cloud, a vapor,

Or a bird flown.

Love me at last—I am but sliding water

Over a stone.

Alice Corbin

RED MAY

Out of the window the trees in the Square

Are covered with crimson May—

You, that were all of my love and my care,

Have broken my heart to-day.

But though I have lost you and though I despair

Till even the past looks gray—

Out of the window the trees in the Square

Are covered with crimson May.

A. Mary F. Robinson

LOVE IS A TERRIBLE THING

I went out to the farthest meadow,

I lay down in the deepest shadow;

And I said unto the earth, “Hold me,”

And unto the night, “O enfold me,”

And unto the wind petulantly

I cried, “You know not for you are free!”

And I begged the little leaves to lean

Low and together for a safe screen;

Then to the stars I told my tale:

“That is my home-light, there in the vale,

“And Ο, I know that I shall return,

But let me lie first mid the unfeeling fern.

“For there is a flame that has blown too near,

And there is a name that has grown too dear,

And there is a fear....”

And to the still hills and cool earth and far sky I made moan,

“The heart in my bosom is not my own!

“O would I were free as the wind on wing;

Love is a terrible thing!”

Grace Fallow Norton

A CONNAUGHT LAMENT

I will arise and go hence to the west,

And dig me a grave where the hill-winds call;

But oh, were I dead, were I dust, the fall

Of my own love’s footstep would break my rest!

My heart in my bosom is black as a sloe!

I heed not cuckoo, nor wren, nor swallow:

Like a flying leaf in the sky’s blue hollow

The heart in my breast is, that beats so low.

Because of the words your lips have spoken,

(O dear black head that I must not follow)

My heart is a grave that is stripped and hollow,

As ice on the water my heart is broken.

O lips forgetful and kindness fickle,

The swallow goes south with you: I go west

Where fields are empty and scythes at rest.

I am the poppy and you the sickle;

My heart is broken within my breast.

Nora Chesson

VOS NON VOBIS

There was a garden planned in Spring’s young days,

Then Summer held it in her bounteous hand,

And many wandered through its blooming ways,

But ne’er the one for whom the work was planned.

And it was vainly done—

For what are many, if we lack the one?

There was a song that lived within the heart

Long time—and then on Music’s wing it strayed!

All sing it now, all praise its artless art,

But ne’er the one for whom the song was made.

And it was vainly done—

For what are many, if we lack the one!

Edith M. Thomas

“OH, THE BURDEN, THE BURDEN OF LOVE UNGIVEN”

Oh, the burden, the burden of love ungiven,

The weight of laughter unshed,

Oh, heavy caresses, unblown tendernesses,

Oh, love-words unsung and unsaid.

Oh, the burden, the burden of love unspoken,

The cramp of silence close-furled,

To lips that would utter, to hands that would scatter

Love’s seed on the paths of the world.

Oh, the heavy burden of love ungiven:

My breast doth this burden bear;

Deep in my bosom the unblown blossom—

My world-love that withers there.

Grace Fallow Norton

“I SAT AMONG THE GREEN LEAVES”

I sat among the green leaves, and heard the nuts falling,

The blood-red butterflies were gold against the sun,

But in between the silence and the sweet birds calling

The nuts fell one by one.

Why should they fall and the year but half over?

Why should sorrow seek me and I so young and kind?

The leaf is on the bough and the dew is on the clover,

But the green nuts are falling in the wind.

Oh, I gave my lips away and all my soul behind them.

Why should trouble follow and the quick tears start?

The little birds may love and fly with only God to mind them,

But the green nuts are falling on my heart.

Marjorie L. C. Pickthall

IN THE PARK

He whistled soft whistlings I knew were for me,

Teasing, endearing.

Won’t you look? was what they said,

But I did not turn my head.

(Only a little I turned my hearing.)

My feet took me by;

Straight and evenly they went:

As if they had not dreamed what he meant:

As if such a curiosity

Never were known since the world began

As woman wanting man!

My heart led me past and took me away;

And yet it was my heart that wanted to stay.

Helen Hoyt

THE ENCHANTED SHEEP-FOLD

The hills far-off were blue, blue,

The hills at hand were brown;

And all the herd-bells called to me

As I came by the down.

The briars turned to roses—roses,

Ever we stayed to pull

A white little rose, and a red little rose,

And a lock of silver wool.

Nobody heeded,—none, none;

And when True Love came by,

They thought him nought but the shepherd-boy.

Nobody knew but I!

The trees were feathered like birds, birds;

Birds were in every tree.

Yet nobody heeded, nobody heard,

Nobody knew, save we.

And he is fairer than all,—all.

How could a heart go wrong?

For his eyes I knew, and his knew mine,

Like an old, old song.

Josephine Preston Peabody

A BIRTHDAY

My heart is like a singing bird

Whose nest is in a watered shoot:

My heart is like an apple tree

Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;

My heart is like a rainbow shell

That paddles in a halcyon sea;

My heart is gladder than all these

Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down;

Hang it with vair and purple dyes;

Carve it in doves and pomegranates,

And peacocks with a hundred eyes;

Work it in gold and silver grapes,

In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;

Because the birthday of my life

Is come, my love is come to me.

Christina Rossetti

FOUND

Oh, when I saw your eyes,

So old it was, so new, the hushed surprise:

After a long, long search, it came to be,

Home folded me.

And looking up, I saw

The far, first stars like tapers to my awe,

In the dim hands of hid, benignant Powers,

At search long hours.

And did they hear us call,

That they have found us children after all?

And did you know, O Wonderful and Dear,

That I was here?

Josephine Preston Peabody