The Garden-Chair

TWO PORTRAITS. A PLEASANT picture, full of meanings deep, Old age, calm sitting in the July sun, On withered hands half-leaning--feeble hands, That after their life-labors, light or hard, Their girlish broideries, their marriage-ringed Domestic duties, their sweet cradle cares, Have dropped into the quiet-folded ease Of fourscore years. How peacefully the eyes Face us! Contented, unregretful eyes, That carry in them the whole tale of life With its one moral--'Thus all was--thus best.' Eyes now so near unto their closing mild They seem to pierce direct through all that maze, As eyes immortal do. Here--Youth. She stands Under the roses, with elastic foot Poised to step forward; eager-eyed, yet grave Beneath the mystery of the unknown To-come, Though longing for its coming. Firm prepared (So say the lifted head and close, sweet mouth) For any future: though the dreamy hope Throned on her girlish forehead, whispers fond, 'Surely they err who say that life is hard; Surely it shall not be with me as these.' God knows: He only. And so best, dear child, Thou woman-statured, sixteen-year-old child, Meet bravely the impenetrable Dark Under thy roses. Bud and blossom thou Fearless as they--if thou art planted safe, Whether for gathering or for withering, safe In the King's garden.