To an Old Lady in a Train

HER hair was beautifully white
Beneath her bonnet, black as night,
Which, plainly of New England kin,
Was tied with strings beneath her chin.
And when she spoke I had no choice
But listened to that soft crisp voice;
And when she smiled, I saw the truth,
She had been lovely in her youth,
And with those quick, observing eyes,
Was charming still to all the wise.
And still, in spite of bonnet strings,
She thought keen, quaint, amusing things,
With gaiety that many hold
Remarkable in one so old.

We talked ten minutes in a train,
And when we came to part again,
Good-bye, enjoy yourself,' said she,
I told her that ahead of me
No pleasure beckoned, no, I said,

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

How Like a Woman

I WANTED you to come to-day­
Or so I told you in my letter­
And yet, if you had stayed away,
I should have liked you so much better.
I should have sipped my tea unseen,
And thrilled at every door-bell's pealing,
And thought how nice I could have been
Had you evinced a little feeling.

I should have guessed you drinking tea
With someone whom you loved to madness;
I should have thought you cold to me,
And revelled in a depth of sadness.
But, no! you came without delay­
I could not feel myself neglected:
You said the things you always say,
In ways not wholly unexpected.

If you had let me wait in vain,
We should, in my imagination,

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

After a Year

YES, you have guessed it. Do not blame me, dear.
Indeed, I did not dream, 0 tender eyes,
When first we met, that in a little year
My words would dim you with pain's dumb surprise.

Do not reproach me, for I suffer too ­
An agony of shame and self-contempt;
And know that I shall miss, far more than you,
The lost illusions of this dream we've dreamt.

Why did you ever learn to love me, child?
If you had let me only be your friend­
Instead of weeping, had you only smiled
Coldly, I might have worshipped to the end.

Worthless and aimless, what I was you knew,
By all the wretched past to you confessed;
The one good in me was my love of you,
And that has proved as fickle as the rest.

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A Dialouge

HE: I am in trouble, give me your advice.
SHE: No, for I'm sure 'twould not be carried out.
HE: It shall, I swear it shall, at any price.
SHE:If that's agreed, what is this all about?
HE:How can I win a woman who is fair
And cold?
SHE:Be colder.
HE:But she's proud as well.
SHE:Be prouder.
HE:But she does not seem to care,
Nor notice when I'm near.
SHE:How can you tell
Whether she does or not, until you've tried
Not being near? Avoid her, let her see
The change, and should chance place you at her side,
Be colder, prouder, civiler than she.
HE: But if she cares...
SHE: Then it will break her heart,
Which will be easier won.
HE: 'Tis too severe

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

To a Certain Gentleman

(' Women are often tempters to sexual sin and delight in it. . . A recent report of a female probation officer relates that some of the girls who, as we may say euphemistically' had gone astray,' owned to her that they enjoyed the life of the evil house.'
- The Case Against Woman Suffrage, published by the Man-Suffrage Association Opposed to Political Suffrage for Women.)

IT may be so, good sir, it may be so,
Not all who sin are tempted - that we know:
It may be darker things than this are true,
And yet, upon my soul, if I were you ­
A man, no longer young, at peace, secured
From all that tempting women have endured
Of poverty and ignorance and fear
And joy that make youth terrible and dear,
If I were you, before I took my pen
And wrote those words to hearten other men,
And give them greater sense of moral ease
In the long score of common sins like these,
If I were you, I would have held my hand
In fire.
- Ah, well; you would not understand.

poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

After a Quarrel

WE have quarreled; ugly things have been said,
Bitter things, in a tone controlled, well-bred,
Temperate; we weighed our words, lest the lust
Of cruelty lose the edge of being just.
We have quarreled over a trifle, one of those trifles
That strike their roots to the very heart of each,
To the cold and earthy places where even love stifles,
And kindness and friendly habit cannot reach ;
Those unexplored vaults of the spirit, black, unknown,
Where each is a king, but a king ashamed, alone,
Afraid of the world, afraid of friend and foe.
Oh, human creatures must quarrel, my dear, I know;
But if we must, let's quarrel for something great,
For something final and dangerous - mastery; hate,
Freedom, or jealousy, virtue, death, or life:
For then two loves leap up on the wings of strife
Into the sun and air of their own souls' sight,
Locked together, joined, putting forth all their might
That love may survive or fail, or perish or win,
But perish not for a trifle. That is sin.

poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Party

THE house is bright with lights and lights,
Like a palace in the Arabian Nights,
Lights in festoons and lights in clusters,
In chandeliers and crystal lustres;
And all the length of the stairs' broad way,
Tapestries green and pink and gray
Tell a story of ladies' bowers
Hung with apples and paved with flowers;
And beyond, an open arch discloses
An inner garden of palms and roses,
With lines of lilies against the walls,
And a fountain that falls - and waits - and falls.
And from the ballroom comes the beat
Of dance music and dancing feet,
And through the doorways of gold and glass
Figures of dancers pass and pass,
Lovely creatures in dripping laces,
And all have sad, unhopeful faces.
One person only yields to joy,
And he is a footman - a round-faced boy -

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Harbor

AND will you rest at last, storm-beaten spirit,
In this poor heart, who would your haven be,
Will you sink down at last, content to inherit
The common treaures of tranquillity?
Will you forget your high and fierce endeavor
The hinted island and the hidden seas,
Defeats, escapes, adventures, that forever
Left you more sad, and never more at ease?

When the west wind on summer evenings blowing
Brings to your ears the sound of sails that fill,
And moving ships eclipse your starlight, going
To lands unseen, and fates that beckon still;
When you shall see beneath the moon new risen,
The hissing wake of other vessels' foam,
Will not this land-locked harbor seem a prison
Where calms and shallows mock the name of home?

Ah, when your longing for the open ocean
Captures your heart, and bids you set your sail,

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Exile

I

At dead of night about the dying fire
They told a story how the dead appear;
And men, grown still with fear,
Forgot their old desire
For those who once were dear,
And shook and trembled lest their dead be near.

Alas, poor dead who were so sweet and human!
How are you grown a menace and a blight ­
A thing to shun, a thing of evil omen,­
Stealing unwelcome through the halls of night?,
Who knows? perhaps yourselves are much affrighted,
And struggle back, remote and bodiless,
Fearful of sounds unheard, visions unsighted,
Black echoes, and the bitter loneliness.

But for me, in my heart is no dread
Of the coming again of the dead,

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Snare of the Fowler

' Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.'

I WRITE for those, of whom I know a few,
Young, pretty, and a little bit flirtatious,
Who would do even more harm, if they knew
The science of the Art of being Gracious.
Science in any game, we know, will tell,
And those who play this ought to play it well.

First, do not doubt that rivals please a man
(Not too successful ones, 'tis understood) -­
They flatter him as nothing you do can,
And give him certainty his taste is good;
And though, at times, a little in his way,
They make him find the house he haunts more gay.

Do not abuse the girls he likes - 'tis far
From wise - for he will only think you spiteful;
Praise them, and show how ludicrous they are,
And, ten to one, he'll find the joke delightful.

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!