Tag Archives: god

BE CONTENT

The Lady’s Pictorial, c. 1890

I ask not for gold or for glory,
I seek not to be as they were,
The men of this world’s wondrous story—
Who fought and who conquer’d. Beware!
“Beware,” says my heart, “of aspiring, to heights which you cannot attain;
Beware! lest when fighting for greatness, you are clouded with sadness and shame.”

Beware! have you e’er seen the sparrow,
Try to mimic the nightingale’s song?
The place that you fill may be narrow,
And the longing you feel may be strong.
But remember, frail mortal, obedience, is the rule with the great; is it meant—
That He who has made us shall serve us? I tell you, not so, be content.

— OLIVE CUSTANCE

—

THE PASSING OF THE OLD YEAR

The Lady’s Pictorial, late 1880s – early 1890s
(Awarded a “Beautiful Fur Muff” from Messrs A. Perry & Co., Behring House, Argyll Street, W.)

Swish! the rain on the window-pane!
I have heard it over and over again;
A jarring note in the wind’s wild strain.

What has Life given in this last year
To mortal man, a smile – a tear?
Something to strive for, something to fear?
What did she leave in our soul’s way last?
Blossoming branches? or clouds that cast
Shadows lengthening out of the past?

What has she set in the garden ground
Of our roving thoughts? A mystic mound,
A grave that Memory circles round.

Like a shining stream, whose ceaseless fret
Over the stones that its course beset,
Vexes the heart that would fain forget!

No matter! the midnight and morn are wed,
The days Life enthroned and crown’d are dead!
The bells are dumb! and the Old Year fled!

I felt him pass, and knew as they met,
He laid his hand on the Young Year’s head.

— WILD OLIVE [Olive Custance]

—

’TIS AN AGE

(Letter-poem to the Editor)
The Lady’s Pictorial, c. 1888 – 89

Dear Mr. Editor,— ’Tis an age
Since I wrote to your charming “Children’s Page,”
And now, to make up, I’ll write in rhyme,
Though it’s rather hot work in the summer-time!

So I hope in return that you’ll print my letter,
Excusing all faults, for I can’t do better.
You see, praising flowers is more to my mind,
So what shall I put to make a rhyme find?

To-morrow we go to the country fair,
And I hope we’ll stay a long time there;
For I’ve two little dogs and a pony and chaise,
So I ought to be happy the livelong days.

And then I hope I shall write to you,
And sometimes send you some poetry too!
The last few days we’ve been packing – oh, dear!
I’m glad that the time is drawing near.

When smoky London we’ll leave and flee
Into the blooming country,
With its voices of birds and its many flowers,
With its fair green fields and its shady bowers.

Where the honeysuckle clings to the tree,
And noisily hums the bumble bee,
And a stream low-laughing creeps through the long grass
That eddies and wavers to let it pass.

For its limpid waters can scarce be seen,
So thick is the overhanging green.
But now, dear Editor, I must say,
For fancy is leading my thoughts astray;

So, hoping you’ll come to the country too,
I remain your friend, so loving and true,

— OLIVE CUSTANCE (aged 15)
12 John Street, Mayfair.

—

THE WAKING OF SPRING

The Gentlewoman, 1892 (“Children’s Salon”)
Reprinted later under the heading Poem by Lady Alfred Douglas

Spirit of Spring! Thy coverlet of snow
Hath fallen from thee with its fringe of frost,
And where the river late did overflow
Sway fragile white anemones, wind-tost,
And in the woods stand snowdrops half asleep
With drooping heads – sweet sisters so long lost.

Spirit, arise! for fair dawn flushes creep
Into the cold grey sky, where clouds assemble
To meet the sun, and earth hath ceased to weep.
Her tears tip every blade of grass and tremble,
Caught in the cup of every flower. O Spring!
I see thee spread thy pinions; they resemble

Large delicate leaves, all silver-vein’d, that fling
Frail floating shadows on the forest sward,
And all the birds about thee build and sing.
Blithe stranger from the gardens of our God,
We welcome thee, for One is at thy side
Whose voice is thrilling music, Love thy Lord,
Whose tender glances stir thy soul, whose wide
Wings wave above thee, thou awakened bride.

— OLIVE CUSTANCE (“Wild Olive”)

—

JOY

The Pall Mall Gazette, 11 May 1895

This wonderful wild winged thing
You cannot cage or keep!
No bodily eye has seen it.
You may have seen it in your sleep,
You must have heard it sing,
You must have felt its glory sweep
The shadow from some sorrow’s face,
In your soul’s secret place!

The light not sent from star or sun,
That shines in children’s eyes;
The laughter in your heart so sweet;
The sudden shimmering, soft surprise,
When Dawn’s gold web is spun:
All these from one rare rapture rise,
Whose fickle feet our hopes outrun,
Until Love’s crown is won!

For then this thing shall set our way
With splendid fire of flowers!
Stain blue our heaven,
String Earth’s slack’d harp with silver showers
Athwart Life’s summer day,
And smiling, put its hand in ours,
A-singing Joy that ne’er can stray,
As long as Love will stay!

— OLIVE CUSTANCE