QJotttcU MniuEtaitg ffiibrarg BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF HENRY W. SAGE 1891 PS asouzSfViaTi'*' ^""^ ^ll1lliaW,te»and,other tales In vers The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022232338 TURNS AND MOVIES AND OTHER TALES IN VERSE TURNS AND MOVIES and other Tales in Verse BY CONRAD AIKEN Author of * Earth Triumphant, and Other Tales in Verse" BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY (Elbe Stiber^be pce^^ Cambriboe 1916 '! L' COPYRIGHT, I916, BY CONRAD AIKEM ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Published March iqib NOTE The series of poems "Turns and Movies" was first printed in the Poetry Journal^ of Boston. "Discordants" appeared in /fcrfry, of Chicago. CONTENTS Turns and Movies I. Rose and Murray i II. The Apollo Trio 3 III. Two McNeils 4 IV. Duval's Birds 5 V. Gabriel de Ford 6 VI. Violet Moore and Bert Moore 7 VII. Zudora 8 VIII. Amorosa and Company 10 IX. Bain's Cats and Rats 1 1 X. The Cornet 13 XI. 14 XII. Aerial Dodds 15 XIII. 17 XIV. Boardman and Coffin 19 XV. Dancing Adairs 22 DiSCORDANTS 24 Evensong 29 Disenchantment: A Tone Poem 34 This Dance of Life : Earth Triumphant, Part Two 51 TURNS AND MOVIES I. ROSE AND MURRAY After the movie, when the lights come up, He takes her powdered hand behind the wings; She, all in yellow, like a buttercup. Lifts her white face, yearns up to him, and clings ; And with a silent, gliding step they move Over the footlights, in familiar glare. Panther /like in the Tango whirl of love. He fawning close on her with idiot stare. Swiftly they cross the stage. O lyric ease ! The drunken music follows the sure feet, The swaying elbows, intergliding knees. Moving with slow precision on the beat. She was a waitress in a restaurant, He picked her up and taught her how to dance. Love/phrases that he whispered her still haunt. She feels his arms, lifts an appealing glance, But knows he spent last evening with Zudora ; And knows that certain changes are before her. The brilliant spotlight circles them around. Flashing the spangles on her weighted dress. . [ ^ ] TURNS AND MOVIES He mimics wooing her, without a sound, Flatters her with a smoothly smiled caress. He fears that she wiU some day queer his act ; Feeling her anger. He will quit her soon. He nods for faster music. He will contract Another partner, under another moon. Meanwhile, " smooth stuff." He lets his dry eyes flit Over the yellow faces there below ; Maybe he '11 cut down on his drinks a bit. Not to annoy her, and so spoil the show. . , . Zudora, waiting for her turn to come. Watches them from the wings, and fatly leers At the girl's younger face, so white and dumb. And the fixed, anguished eyes, ready for tears. She lies beside him, with a false wedding-ring, In a cheap room, with moonlight on the floor ; The moonlit curtains remind her much of spring, Of a spring evening on the Coney shore. And while he sleeps, knowing she ought to hate. She still clings to the lover that she knew, — The one that, with a pencil, on a plate. Drew a heart and wrote, " I 'd die for you." [2] THE APOLLO TRIO II. THE APOLLO TRIO From acting profile parts in the " legit," He came to this ; and he is sick of it. The singing part is easy. What he hates Is traveling with these damned degenerates, Tight''trousered, scented, both with women's hips, With penciled eyes, and lean vermilioned lips. Loving each other so, they pick on him, — Horse him, offstage and on. He smiles, is grim, Plays up the part, saving his final card Till Jones should dare to slap his face too hard. But what 's " too hard " ? — Meanwhile, four times a day He drinks, to make things pleasanter ; while they (Those damned degenerates) eat up cocaine. The call/boy calls him on. And once again With a crushed hat, long hair, and powdered face, Dressed as the villain, in black, he booms deep bass, Asks the fool question, takes the slap, and sings As if he did for the first time all those things. My God, how tired he is of hearing Jones, Simpering sweetly in falsetto tones, ' Chase me, boys, I issue trading'Stamps : " Tired of grease-paint, dirty clothes, and lamps. [3] TURNS AND MOVIES At ease on sawdust floors, he leans and drinks, Swapping old stories with the crowd ; or thinks, Roving a blear green eye about the bar,,.,-,^. Of the girl he loved, or the one time he was star. III. TWO MCNEILS He skips out lithe and tense into the light, Throws off his gown, and smiling, lifts his hands With a theatric gesture, opening fingers, Like a vain child. And having rippled slowly Under the smooth white tights the gleaming muscles. Smiling again, he turns ; and lifts black weights, — Staggering, flushing deep his face and neck, — To drop them with a crash. She, sweet and blonde, Stands by (in white tights too), smiles at the people. Catching the handkerchief he tosses to her When he has wiped his hands ; and at the end. Feigning timidity, sits in a chair Which he heaves up to balance in his teeth. But as she sits there, waving frantic hands. And sees his coarse red fist gesticulating, She looks down on him with a look of hatred, And wishes he would only burst a vein. Where did you get that ring ?" he said to her. While they were waiting turn. She looked at it, [4] DUVAL'S BIRDS Twisting her head to this side and to that To see it sparkle. " What is that to you ? " " That dru.ii....er gave it to you. I 've seen him watch you." " What if he does ? " " You cut it out, that 's all ! Don't you forget that time that I half-killed Schmidt." She smiled at him. "Why drag that up again ? " Then, they went on,— he quivering, she cool. . . . And as she caught his handkerchief, she turned Disgusted from him, thinking of her lover ; And how he said in his delicious voice, " I '11 meet you Thursday night at half-past ten." IV. duval's birds The parrot, screeching, flew out into the darkness, Circled three times above the upturned faces With a great whir of brilliant outspread wings, And then returned to stagger on her finger. She bowed and smiled, eliciting applause. . . . The property man hated her dirty birds. But it had taken years — yes, years — to train them. To shoulder flags, strike bells by tweaking strings. Or climb sedately little flights of stairs. When they were stubborn, she tapped them with a wand, [5 ] TURNS AND MOVIES And her eyes glittered a little under the eyebrows. The red one flapped and flapped on a swinging wire ; The little white ones winked round yellow eyes. V. GABRIEL DE FORD He slips in through the stage/door, always singing ; StiU singing, he slips out, without a word To stage/door man, or any of the others. All through his act, wagging upon each hand A grotesque manikin, he laughs and sings. Sings with a far/off^ventriloquial voice Through fixed and smiling lips. Sometimes, not often. He barely moves his mouth, for a ghostly word. You see his throat fill, or his nostrils quiver. But then, staring ahead with stretched white eyes. And never stirring, he throws his voice way off. Faintly under the stage, or in the wings, Creeping nearer, or fading to a whisper. And since he always sings and never talks. And flits by nervously, swinging his cane. Rumors are thick about him through the circuit. Some say he hates the women, and loves men: That once, out West, he tried to kiss a man. Was badly hurt, then almost killed himself. Others maintain a woman jilted him. [6 ] VIOLET MOORE AND BERT MOORE But the one story they tell everywhere Is how, at his father's funeral, he threw his voice Suddenly into the coffin ; and all the mourners Jumped from their seats and ran, and women fainted. And the preacher stopped the service, white as wax. Zudora said a friend of hers had seen him Mooning alone at " Carmen." And at the end He cried like a baby: what do you think of that. • VI. VIOLET MOORE AND BERT MOORE He thinks her little feet should pass Where dandelions star thickly grass ; Her hands should lift in sunlit' air. Sea/wind should tangle up her hair. Green leaves, he says, have never heard A sweeter ragtime mockingbird, Nor has the moon^man ever seen. Or man in the spotlight, leering green, Such a beguiling, smiKng queen. Her eyes, he says, are stars at dusk. Her mouth as sweet as red^rose/musk; And when she dances his young heart swells With flutes and viols and silver bells ; [7] « TURNS AND MOVIES His brain is dizzy, his senses swim, When she slants her ragtime eyes at him. . . Moonlight shadows, he bids her see. Move no more silently than she. It was this way, he says, she came. Into his cold heart, bearing flame. And now that his heart is all on fire Will she refiise his heart's desire ? — And O ! has the Moon Man ever seen (Or the spotlight devil, leering green) A sweeter shadow upon a screen ? VII. ZUDORA Here on the pale beach, in the darkness; With the full moon just to rise ; They sit alone, and look over the sea, Or into each others' eyes, . . . She pokes her parasol into the sleepy sand, Or sifts the lazy whiteness through her hand. A lovely night," he says. " The moon. Comes up for you and me. Just like a blind old spotKght there, Fizzing across the sea! " [8] ZUDORA She pays no heed, nor even turns her head : He slides his arm around her waist instead. 'Why don't we do a sketch together? — Those songs you sing are swell. Where did you get them, anyway? They suit you awfully well." She wiU not turn to him — will not resist. Impassive, she submits to being kissed. •' My husband wrote all four of them. You know, — my husband drowned. He was always sickly, soon depressed . . ." But still she hears the sound Of a stateroom door shut hard, and footsteps going Swiftly and steadily ; and the dark sea flowing. She hears the cold sea flowing, and sees his eyes Hollow with disenchantment, sick surprise, — And hate of her whom he had loved too well. . . . She lowers her eyes, demurely prods a shell. [9 ] TURNS AND MOVIES " Yes. We might do an act together. That would be very nice." He kisses her passionately, and thinks She 's carnal, but cold as ice. VIII. AMOROSA AND COMPANY Well, there was still a sure hand, anyway, When she stood up alone, in a casket of light. In the jet velvet blackness ; and round her neck. And along her outstretched naked gleaming arms. Felt the cool python slowly coil and coU. . . . But that was for the snake, more than for her. And when that Russian upstart ran out dancing, Flinging her little knees up, so affected. And throwing her arms about so foolishly. The audience went half-crazy with applause ! Pretty ? Well, if you call it pretty, to have That listless scanty flaxen hair, and eyes So sentimentally blue. When she was hired. She was half'Starved, poor thing, and cried and cried, — And, really, it was half in pity she took her. And now to have her getting all the notice. With those ridiculous dances ! Hopping about. Frisking her hands up, perking her rat's head sideways. Smiling, or looking sad, running and jumping, [ 10 ] BAIN'S CATS AND RATS Or toddling on her toes — it was disgusting. And as if that were n't enough, to have her men All whining round this girl like a lot of tom-cats, Even her husband ! — (not that she wanted him). And then, to have that cornet player get up And give her a box of roses, on top of all ! . . . She wondered if her strength would fail her, sometimes ; And if, instead of smiling, when the girl Was given an encore (taking her hand to share it), She 'd suddenly burst out laughing and slap her face : The wretched thin little measly skin^and'bones ! — She paused, fatigued with combing out her hair. Sick of trying to get those scraps of tinsel. And stared at red mirrored eyes. She was getting old. • IX. bain's cats and rats Quiet, and almost bashful, and seldom looking Into the rows of eyes below and above, He went about his work as if alone ; His cats, upon their table, sat and yawned: Or, paws curled under, blinked their sleepy eyes. And one by one, with deft pale hand, he lifted Rats from a lidded box, and set each one On a little pedestal. And then a cat, [ " ] TURNS AND MOVIES Black, with green insolent eyes, gravely and sleekly Stepped over them, and sniffed, and waved his tail. And glared at the spotlight with his ears laid back. And leapt back to the table The audience laughed Later, when one cat balked, he gave up weakly. And let the curtain faU, with scant applause. Ten years before this he had lost his wife. He was a trapeze artist : in his act. While hanging from the trapeze by his legs. Lifted the girl up in a jeweled girdle Clenched in his teeth, and twirled her with his hands. In darkness, with the spotlight blazing on them. It was a love-match. — Many had envied them. But he was always queer, a moody man. And things got quickly on his nerves. The girl. Perhaps, had been too young. . . . But anjrway. One night before his act they heard him scolding — ' For Christ's sake, put less powder on your arms ! Look at my clothes — look here ! " — And that same night He let her fall — or anyway, she fell. And died without a word. Soon after that He quit the trapeze work, and got these rats. . . . Sometimes there on the stage, he heard himself Saying, until the words grew meaningless, [ ^^1 THE CORNET Multiplying themselves in tireless rhythms, " I 'm sick of her. But how get rid of her ? Why don't I let her M?— She's killing me ! " And then he 'd glance, half-'scared, into the wings. X. THE CORNET When she came out, that white little Russian dancer, With her bright hair, and her eyes so young, so young. He suddenly lost his leader, and aE the players. And only heard an immortal music sung, — Of dryads flashing in the green woods of April, On cobwebs trembling over the deep wet grass : Fleeing their shadows with laughter, with hands uplifted. Through the whirled sinister sun he saw them pass, — Lovely immortals gone, yet existing somewhere. Still somewhere laughing in woods of immortal green. Youth he had lived among fires, or dreamed of living. Lovers in youth once seen, or dreamed he had seen. . . . And watching her knees flash up, and her young hands beckon. And the hair that streamed behind, and the taunting eyes. He felt this place dissolving in living darkness, And through the darkness he felt his childhood rise, [^3] TURNS AND MOVIES Soft, and shining, and sweet, hands filled with petals. , . . And watching her dance, he was gratefizl to forget These fiddlers, leaning and drawing their bows together. And the tired fingers on the stops of his cornet. XI Sitting in a cafe, and watching her reflection Smoke a cigarette, or drinking coffee, She laughed hard-heartedly at his dejection. . . . He laid his cigarette down in his saucer. And stolid with despair Put his elbows on the table, ran his fingers through his hair. Watching how her lips primmed, dusty in the mirror. To meet the gilded tip between her fingers, As the cigarette approached them in her hand : She told him he was seriously in error. . . . And noticing how her lips moved, in reflection, She thought it queer, she said. That in spite of all her warnings he should go and lose his head. Just as she was smiling, the noisy music started; She tapped upon the tablecloth in rhythm. . . . Were those blue eyes of hers so icyhearted ? How was it, otherwise, she could not like him ? [ H ] AERIAL DODDS Women were different, then, From these strangely childlike passionate selfish men. . . . She rose and took his arm ; they slowly walked together Out through the maze of tables, people drinking, Into the windy void of rainy weather. . . . And in the taxi, sitting dark beside. him, She moved, and touched his knee. And when he kissed her, hated him, but kissed him, passionately. XII. AERIAL DODDS Ingratitude — the damned ingratitude ! After these years, and all he 'd done for him, To run away like this without a word ! Without so much as thanks, — and still a boy, — Though he had taken him as a child and trained him ! This moment, he could kill him with his hands. Wring his young neck. . . . And worst of aU, to think, After he 'd poured out love on him so long, That he should run off with that rotten girl. That whore, who could n't dance, and could n't sing, Who only kept her job because, being shameless. She splashed about in the spotlight like a mermaid ! My God ; he 'd kill him if he ever found him. Had he been cruel to him ? No, not cruel. [^S ] TURNS AND MOVIES Sure, he had whipped him sometimes, — once in a while, - Partly for discipline, of course. , . . But never More than to make him shrink, or his lips tremble, His cheeks a little white. Not more than that. And then, he had loved him so ! And given him things. All the money he needed, and all the clothes. . . . — And the boy had been a foundling to begin with ! He got up from his chair, groped in the darkness, And struck a match under the mantelpiece, — Watching it spurt from blue to yellow flame. Startling the room with agitated shadows. And one by one he lifted from the trunk The clothes the boy had worn : the sofi/soled shoes ; The white ones with the sockets in the heels. For whirling in the swing ; the satin tights. And the broad golden girdle, crystal starred. He had looked lovely in this sleek white satin — And he remembered now the day they bought it ; And how he stood up, smiling, by the mirror. With big blue fearless eyes, and curly hair, Just as he looked, sitting in his trapeze, Wiping his hands so calm, and gazing down. His throat was just like ivory, in this lace. . . . And he had looked so slim, so like a child. So white and fragile ! TURNS AND MOVIES And now, my God, he 'd gone. And he would never touch again that skin, So young and soft ; or have against his mouth Those curls ... or feel the long-'tongued venomous whip Curl round those knees, and see the young mouth tremble. XIII How is it that I am now so softly awakened, My leaves shaken down with music ? — Darling, I love you. It is not your mouth, for I have known mouths before, — Though your mouth is more alive than roses, Roses singing softly To green leaves after rain. It is not your eyes, for I have dived often in eyes, — Though your eyes, even in the yeUow glare of footlights. Are windows into eternal dusk. Nor is it the live white flashing of your feet. Nor your gay hands, catching at motes in the spotlight ; Nor the abrupt thick music of your laughter, When, against the hideous backdrop. With all its crudities brilliantly lighted, [ ^7 ] TURNS AND MOVIES Suddenly you catch sight of your alarming shadow, Whirling and contracting. How is it, then, that I am now so keenly aware, So sensitive to the surges of the wind, or the light, Heaving silently under blue seas of air ? — Darling, I love you, I am immersed in you. It is not the unraveled night-time of your hair, — Though I grow drunk when you press it upon my face : And though when you gloss its length with a golden brush I am strings that tremble under a bow. It was that night I saw you dancing. The whirl and impalpable float of your garment. Your throat lifted, your face aglow (Like waterlilies in moonlight were your knees). It was that night I heard you singing In the green-room after your dance was over. Faint and uneven through the thickness of walls. (How shall I come to you through the dullness of walls. Thrusting aside the hands of bitter opinion?) It was that afternoon, early in June, When, tired with a sleepless night, and my act performed. Feeling as stale as streets, _ [i8] BOARDMAN AND COFFIN We met under dropping boughs, and you smiled to me : And we sat by a watery surface of clouds and sky. I hear only the susim;ation.ofintimate leaves; The stealthy gliding of branches upon slow air. I see only the point of your chin in sunlight ; And the sinister blue of sunlight on your hair. The sunlight settles downward upon us in silence. Now we thrust up through grass'blades and encounter, Pushing white hands amid the green. Your face flowers whitely among cold leaves. Soil clings to you, bark falls from you, You rouse and stretch upward, exhaling earth, inhaling sky, I touch you, and we drift off together like moons. Earth dips from under. We are alone in an immensity of sunlight, Specks in an infinite golden radiance. Whirled and tossed upon cataracts and silent torrents. Give me your hands, darling ! We float downward. XIV. BOARDMAN AND COFFIN I TOLD him straight, if he touched me, just once more, — That way, you know, — I 'd kill him. And I did. [ 19] TURNS AND MOVIES Why should n't I ? I told him straight I would. And here I am ! — And I hope to God I die. You would n't think this hand could hit so hard, — Look, there 's still powder on it, and rouge on the nails ! Maybe it 's blood. — I told him, if he touched me ! — And he 'd come grinning up, and think, because The house was watching everything we did. That he could touch me, while he danced with me,— That way, you know, — and get away with it. . . . Well, you can't say I did n't give him warning. My God, I hated him! The things he did! You would n't believe them if I told them to you. They were so nasty. They almost killed me, — killed me, — Night after night ! — Well, anyway, he 's dead. Dead as a stick, or a stone, or an old cigar 'butt. You would n't think I would do a thing like that, — I don't look strong, do I ? — But when you 're dancing, You've got to keep in shape. And then, my God! — When he came leering downward with those eyes. Those red'brown eyes, like fire, like a vampire's eyes, I thought I 'd scream, go mad, or fling myself Over the footlights, into the orchestra, — Anywhere, anywhere, — only to get away! They were like wheels of fire, those eyes of his, — Whirling and whirling, and always getting bigger; [20 ] BOARDMAN AND COFFIN Like terrible doors, with fires roaring inside them, Roaring and roaring, and always coming nearer, — And sort of sucking at me, and pulling my dress. And pressing hot cruel fingers against my breasts. And blowing my hair up, and pushijig against my knees, — And all the while laughing and laughing at me ! O, it was terrible, terrible, — like a nightmare. Slowly leaning downward upon you and crushing. And your heart stops beating, and you can't move a finger, But lie there sweating ! — I had to kiU him, — that 's all, — I had to kill him. I told him straight, if he touched me just once more, — That way, you know, — I 'd kill him. And I did. Those fire/wheel eyes ! Do you know what I thought I was doing ? Well, when they came down, bigger and bigger, and whirl/ ing, Whirling so fast, with fire all round the rims. And the spokes all going so quick you could n't see them. Only a sort of blur, — I thought I 'd stop them, By suddenly sticking a knife in through the spokes! And I did. And all of a sudden the music stopped — Just like grand opera ! And he was kneeling there. Putting his hands down, sort of groping, and nodding. As ifhe were looking for something. Ha! A joke. [21 ] TURNS AND MOVIES And seeing that he was done for, I stabbed myself: A Jap I knew once showed me how to do it. And I heard great bells go roaring down the darkness ; And a wind rushed after them. And that was all. XV. DANCING ADAIRS Behold me, in my chiffon, gauze, and tinsel, Flitting out of the shadow into the spotlight. And into the shadow again, without a whisper ! — Firefly 's my name. I am evanescent. Firefly 's your name. You are evanescent. But I follow you as remorselessly as darkness, And shut you in and enclose you, at last, and always, TiU you are lost, — as a voice is lost in silence. Till I am lost, as a voice is lost in silence. . . . Are you the one who would close so cool about me ? My fire sheds into and through you and beyond you : How can your fingers hold me ? I am elusive. How can my fingers hold you? You are elusive ? Yes, you are flame ; but I surround and love you. Always extend beyond you, cool, eternal, To take you into my heart's great void of silence. [ "] DANCING ADAIRS You shut me into your heart's great void of silence. O sweet and soothing end for a life of whirling ! Now I am still, whose life was mazed with motion. Now I sink into you, for love of sleep. DISCORDANTS Music I heard with you was more than music, And bread I broke with you was more than bread ; Now that I am without you, all is desolate ; All that was once so beautiful is dead. Your hands once touched this table and this silver. And I have seen your fingers hold this glass. These things do not remember you, beloved, — And yet your touch upon them will not pass. For it was in my heart you moved among them. And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes ; And in my heart they will remember always, ^- They knew you once, O beautiful and wise. II My heart has become as hard as a city street. The horses trample upon it, it sings like iron, AH day long and all night long they beat, They ring like the hooves of time. DISCORDANTS My heart has become as drab as a city park, The grass is worn with the feet of shameless lovers, A match is struck, there is kissing in the dark, The moon comes, pale with sleep. My heart is torn with the sound of raucous voices, They shout from the slums, from the streets, from the crowded places. And tunes from a hurdy-gurdy that coldly rejoices Shoot arrows into my heart, O my beloved, sleeping so far from me, Walking alone in sunlight, or in blue moonlight. Are you alive there, far across that sea, Or were you only a dream ? Ill Vermilioned mouth, tired with many kisses. Eyes, that have lighted for so many eyes, — Are you not weary yet with countless lovers. Desirous now to take even me for prize ? Draw not my glance, nor set my sick heart beating, ■ Body so stripped, for all your silks and lace. Do not reach out pale hands to me, seductive. Nor slant sly eyes, O subtly smiling face. [25] DISCORDANTS For I am drawn to you, like wind I follow, Like a warm amorous wind . . . though I desire Even in dream to keep one face before me, One face like fire, and holier than fire. I walk beneath these trees, and in this darkness Muse beyond seas of her firom whom I came, While you, with catlike step, steal close beside me, Spreading your perfume round me like soft flame. Ah! should I once stoop face and forehead to you. Into and through your sweetness, a night like this. In the lime/blossomed darkness feel your bosom, Warm and so soft, and find your lips to kiss. And tear at your strange flesh with crazy fingers. And drink with mouth gone mad your eyes' wild wine, And cleave to you, body with breathless body. Till bestial were exalted to dmne, — Would I again, O lamia silked and scented. Out of the slumberous magic of your eyes. And your narcotic perfume, soft and febrile, Have the romantic hardihood to rise, [26] DISCORDANTS And set my heart across great seas of distance With love unsullied for her from whom I came ? — With catlike step you steal beside me, past me, Leaving your perfume round me like soft flame. IV Dead Cleopatra lies in a crystal casket. Wrapped and spiced by the cunningest of hands. Around her neck they have put a golden necklaCe, Her tatbebs, it is said, are worn with sands. Dead Cleopatra was once revered in Egypt, Warm'eyed she was, this princess of the South. Now she is very old and dry and faded, With black bitumen they have sealed up her mouth. Grave/robbers pulled the gold rings from her fingers. Despite the holy symbols across her breast ; They scared the bats that quietly whirled above her. Poor lady ! she would have been long since at rest. If she had not been v^rapped and spiced so shrewdly. Preserved, obscene, to mock black flights of years. . . . What would her lover have said, — had he foreseen it ? Had he been moved to ecstasy, — or tears ? [^7 1 DISCORDANTS O sweet clean earth, from whom the green blade cometh! When we are dead, my best beloved and I, Close well above us, that we may rest forever, Sending up grass and blossoms to the sky. In the noisy street. Where the sifted sunlight yellows the pallid faces. Sudden I close my eyes, and on my eyelids Feel from the far«'off sea a cool faint spray, — A breath on my cheek. From the tumbling breakers and foam, the hard sand shattered, Gulls in the high wind whistling, flashing waters, Smoke from the flashing waters blown on rocks ; — And I know once more, O dearlv belovdd ! — that all these seas are between us, Tumult and madness, desolate save for the sea/guUs, You on the farther shore, and I in this street. EVENSONG This song is of no importance ^ I will only improvise; Yet, maybe, here and there. Suddenly from these sounds a chord will start And piercingly touch my heart. In the pale mauve twiKght, streaked with orange, Exquisitely sweet, — She leaned upon her balcony and looked across the street; And across the huddled roofs of the misty city, Across the hiUs of tenements, so gray. She looked into the west with a young and infinite pity. With a young and wistful pity, as if to say That dark was coming, and irresistible night, Which man would attempt to meet With here and there a little flickering light. . . . The orange faded, the housetops all were black, And a strange and beautiful quiet Came unexpected, came exquisitely sweet. On market-'place and street ; [ 29 ] EVENSONG And where were lately crowds and sounds and riot Was a gentle blowing of wind, a murmur of leaves, A single step, or voice, and under the eaves The scrambling of sparrows ; and then the hush swept back. II She leaned upon her balcony, in the darkness. Folding her hands beneath her chin ; And watched the lamps begin Here and there to pierce like eyes the darkness, — From windows, luminous rooms. And from the damp dark street Between the moving branches, and the leaves with rain stiU sweet. It was strange : the leaves thus seen. With the lamplight's cold bright glare thrown up among them, — The restless maple leaves. Twinkling their myriad shadows beneath the eaves, — Were lovelier, almost, than with sunlight on them. So bright they were with young translucent green; Were lovelier, almost, than with moonlight on them. . . . And looking so wistfully across the city, With such a young, and wise, and infinite pity For the girl who had no lover [30] EVENSONG To walk with her along a street like this, With slow steps in the rain, both aching for a kiss, — It seemed as if aU evenings were the same. As if all evenings came With just such tragic peacefulness as this ; With just such hint of loneliness or pain, The quiet after rain. in Would her lover, then, grow old sooner than she, And find a night like this too damp to walk ? Would he prefer to stay indoors and talk. Or read the evening paper, while she sewed, or darned a sock, And listened to the ticking of the clock: Would he prefer it to lamplight on a tree? Would he be old and tired, And, having all the comforts he desired. Take no interest in the twilight coming down So beautifully and quietly on the town ? Would her lover, then, grow old sooner than she ? IV • A NEIGHBOR started singing, singing a child to sleep. It was strange : a song thus heard, — [31 ] EVENSONG In the misty evening, after an afternoon of rain, — Seemed more beautifiil than happiness, more beautiftil than pain. Seemed to escape the music and the word. Only, somehow, to keep A warmth that was lovelier than the song of any bird. Was it because it came up through this tree, Through the lucent lea.ves that twinkled on this tree, With the bright lamp there beneath them in the street? It was exquisitely sweet : So unaffected, so unconscious that it was heard. Or was it because she looked across the city, Across the hiUs of tenements, so black, And thought of all the mothers with a young and infinite pity? ... The child had fallen asleep, the hush swept back. The leaves hung lifeless on the tree. It was too bad the sky was dark. A cat came slinking close along the wall. For the moon was ftiU just now, and in the park. If the sky were clear at all. The lovers upon the moonlit grass would sprawl. And whisper in the shadows, and laugh, and there [3^ ] , EVENSONG She would be going, maybe, with a white rose in her hair . . But would youth at last grow weary of these things, Of the ribbons and the laces. And the latest way of putting .up one's hair ? Would she no longer care, In that undiscovered future of recurring springs, If, growing old and plain, she no longer turned the faces And saw the people stare ? Would she hear music and not yearn To take her lover's arm for one more turn ? . . . The leaves hung breathless on the dripping maple tree. The man across the street was going out. It was the evening made her think such things, no doubt. But would her lover grow old sooner than she ? . . . Only the evening made her think such things, no doubt. . . VI And yet, and yet, — Seeing the tired city, and the trees so still and wet, — It seemed as if all evenings were tl^ same ; As if all evenings came. Despite her smile at thinking of a kiss. With just such tragic peacefiilness as this ; With just such hint of loneliness or pain ; The perfect quiet that comes after rain. DISENCHANTMENT A 'Tone Poem Dedicated to Lucien Bainbridge Crist Pneumatic hammers upon an iron frame Resumed their harsh vibration now once more, Through the hot air their terrible pulses came, And upon his prostrate heart their clamor bore, And paused and hammered again and beat and tore. Until it seemed he must part his lips and scream ; He reeled in sickening clouds of oily steam. There was no rest from sound, no silence ever, No pause for the body, no peace for heart or mind; Through the hot haze that hung upon the river The glittering ferries paddled, and shrieked, and whined. And he watched, incessant, the black crowds mass and wind Stupidly through the narrow canyoned street, With a smell of dust and asphalt in the heat. He was a giant outstretched for torture now ; And aU these things, transacted in his brain, [34] DISENCHANTMENT Beat him, and wore him down, and made him bow. Filtered with agony through heart and vein, To open, in a perfect flower of pain. In his vast mind that now contained this all. He felt a million men through one cell crawl. Till the pneumatic hammers once more burst Deep in his brain with frightful anguished fire ; Tin all his life seemed hopelessly accursed ; Til] sunlight, blazing on a copper wire. Seemed the last step to madness, and desire Dreamed passionately and singly of one thing, — To leave this city and walk in country spring. Yes, he would leave these walls, these hideous streets. The parks, the steaming asphalt and hot stone ; In his blood it had all grown up, with a myriad beats, He had made and loved it all, it was all his own ; The ugliness of every brick was known. And he hated it now because he had loved it so, — And because it was his past, he would leave it and would go. He would cleanse his life of aU its dying past. Of all that massed corruption there within. Yes, sweep it all away, be free at last, Burn down and raze this growth of long dead sin, [35 ] DISENCHANTMENT And so be free once more to breathe, begin, — Work with fresh hands and heart at something new. And walk, with naked feet through grass and dew. . . He tore the evening paper he had bought. And crushed, and flung it down ; and wondered then If these were truths, or a mind much overwrought. He mused. And just beyond his musings' ken Lurked the great question : would he love again This woman whom he had loved so long and well? . . And then the city vanished, and darkness fell. And he ran his hand along an iron railing ; And thought that it was sad that life was so : Life was always, where one least expected, failing. . But it was strange, yes, very strange. That the lovely things, the things one loved, must go. And that the things one wanted most must change. He ran his hand along a twisted wire In peaceful sad perplexity, and thought That it was strange that one could so desire To love a well/known city, or a well-known face. Yet see it come to nought ; This city had once seemed such a lovely place ! This woman: — perhaps his mind was overvsrought. [36 J DISENCHANTMENT And then the pneumatic hammers once more burst Deep in his brain with ceaseless anguished fire, Till all his life seemed hopeless and accursed, Till sunlight, blazing on this twisted wire, Seemed the last step to madness, and desire Thought passionately and singly of one thing, — To leave this city and walk in country spring. . . . The evening came ; And the sky was hot, and tearless, and aflame, A brazen thing, a hideous thing ; And it seemed to him a shame There were no clouds to shield this street, No patter of large cool drops to break this heat. Wet the limp leaves, and make the robins sing. And it seemed to him a shame. But the moon rose large and sleepy behind the housetops. In the clear blue evening air. And softly a sea'wind came among the housetops. With a smell of kelp and sand and mermaids' hair, And it seemed to him, it would be pleasant there. . . . But then that question came back like a knell, — Like a tolling in some cavern of his brain, — Would he ever love again This woman whom he had loved so long and well ? [37 ] DISENCHANTMENT II The little waves came ceaselessly in moonlight, The small and personal waves ; and by his hand They chuckled and spread out whispering on the sand, Leaving a rim of bubbles in the moonlight. The ripples came one by one. They chuckled, they whispered to him, as if in fiin. And, with a little hiss, melted in sand. They had come up out of the darkness of the sea. These small and personal waves : They came up ceaselessly. Myriads in the moonlight, hurrying, gleaming,- Following fast, yet always orderly seeming. Each in its destined place ; And just such small and personal wave was he. Lifting out of the night his little face. . . . Here in the moonlight, on the seaweed, The seaweed not yet dried From the last rising of the tide. It seemed he had lost that city of so much pain And looking at the moon was free again. The ripples lapped, the ripples fell. . . . And this woman whom he had loved so long and well, [38] DISENCHANTMENT Was she not just such small and personal wave Hastening out of the sea to the sand, its grave ? . . . Yes, maybe this was she, that broke in seaweed, — Or maybe this was she, that by his hand. With a slight whisper sank in sand ; Or maybe she had vanished months ago, — He did not know. And yet, somehow, he thought. If of this beautiful sea she had been wrought, Of foam and moonlight and blown spray. It would have been a lovehness to stay, — Not fading out so soon. But beautiful still with each returning moon, . . . Ah, it was strange, yes, very strange, ____ That the lovely things, the things one loved, must go. And that the things one wanted most must change. . . The ripples came one by one. They chuckled, they whispered to him, as if in fixn, And, with a little hiss, melted in sand. He swam in moonlight with slow stroke ; While round his shoulders and pale hands A milky phosphorescence broke. And a white line along the sands Showed where the moonlit surf went in; [39] DISENCHANTMENT And phosphorescence went and came In azure stars and moons of green, And flowers of coldly bursting flame. The moonlight poured, he shut his eyes. Letting his body fell and rise. And letting sea flow over him A lustrous flood, assuaging dim. He thought these waters made him whole. And gave him back his virgin soul ; While, with his outstretched hands, he combed Bubbles of green fire, milky foamed. . . . He swam in moonlight, cleaving slow The chuckling darkness of the sea. He would no more forever know That flaming city's agony, But here he closed his cool eyes, feeling The bubbles breaking past his throat, And along his sides cold soft hands stealing ; And in the moonlight seemed to float. ' No, he would never go back there To that city of staleness and despair ; But here would break, in endless night. Slow shattering stars of cold green light. . . . [40] DISENCHANTMENT And now these ripples came once more Lapping and lapping along the shore ; Like Kttle tongues that tried to explain Their vast and dark and hopeless pain ; Like little tongues that craved for speech With a vague murmur along the beach. And did he hear them ? they seemed to say ; Not knowing, as he knew so well, That he had sorrow the same as they, But had no speech and could not tell. For he had come up out of the sea With seaweed clinging to his hands, He had come up silently to the sands, No wave was wretcheder than he. . . . Yet, listening to the waves, he thought That his mind was overwrought with grief, Ah, yes, his mind was overwrought, AU t his was only a sick belief . . . For the little waves came ceaselessly in moonlight, The small and personal waves ; and by his hand. Coming up one by one. They chuckled, they whispered to him, as if in fun. And, with a little hiss, melted in sand. [41 ] DISENCHANTMENT III She was beautiful, stilly^Fge&n in a cpirtqinjight^ Yes, beautiful stiU if seen in a certdn.^^ — Sitting and sewing under a lamp at night. She, who had once seemed beautiful all day. For a moment he turned away. Hoping to find, when he turned back once more. All as it was before. By.tut^i;ag^not the same, nojaoLthe sa rqe, He realized it now, their love had faded. It had lost its edge of flame. It was saddened and degraded. And there was no more lighting up of eyes. Those were t heir in OTning^ these their twilight skies. And he watched the yellow lamplight on her hair. In a perplexed and melancholy stare. It was lovely, looked at so ; And the soft arm moving gently to and fro, With the little thread, And the graciously bending head, — Yes, they were beautiful, still, if looked at so. , . . But he seemed to look from an infinite distance now,- He was alone, and she was alone ; [421 DISENCHANTMENT And though he admired her hair, her throat, her brow, With the yellow lamplight thus across them thrown, — Showing the down on her cheek, — Yet the love in him had shrunken and turned weak ; And though she was lovelier than most women were, He knew, and for days had known, That though he might love again he could never again love her. For it was not the same, no, not the same. It was a different thing ; He was often, somehow, taken unaware. And had no time in which he might prepare An affectionate expressionsior a smile ; And the words that used to sing. The words that from his heart so easily came. Now came with an effort, paled, in a little while Died in a silence of profound and mute despair; For it was not the same, no, not the same. And was it only time that had brought him this ? And must time always come Grayly betwixt the lovers and their kiss ? Must the lips at last grow desolate and dumb, All lips, no matter who the lovers be ? And if it had been another, and not she, [43 ] DISENCHANTMENT Would love have come to just such certain end, To leave them friend and friend ? — There was no knowing, no knowing. . . . The clock ticked, she continued with her sewing. Ah, there was the pity of it, there was the pity ! For she was the loveUest woman he had ever met. And she was lovely still ; and yet, and yet, — Being known and byedjookngL — ^yes, like this_eity,j^ Love had at last grown tired, Toojiiuch CQntent where once it so desired. And too much fed with touch and glance and kiss ; And now it had come to this. Standing behind her chair, With a sudden tender impulse he leaned and kissed her hair. And smiling she looked upward for a space ; And in that second he saw once more the face That had come upon him once like a lovely fire, Like a torch of fire. Blowing its flames through his soul like a blown desire ; Her eyes laughed up with a lovely challenge of light, A challenge he did not dare deny. And then he said "good-'night" and she " good/night ! " — And felt, somehow, that good^night meant good'bye. [44 ] DISENCHANTMENT IV All lovely things will have an ending, AH lovely things will fade and die, And youth, that 's now so bravely spending Will beg a penny by and by. . . . And then the pneumatic hammers once more burst Deep in his brain with ceaseless anguished fire, Till all his Kfe seemed hopeless and accursed, Till sunlight blazing on a copper wire Seemed the last pain to madness, and desire Dreamed passionately and singly of one thing, — To leave this city and be renewed with spring. He would take a day from work and go away Into the woods, to walk in dew and grass ; If he could be a tree for just one day He could drop these withered leaves, his grief would pass, [Tteeping new leaves alone; and yet, alas! ^ Would he not be reminded of old times ^hen they had sought these woods for walks and climbs ? In this birch copse they had heard a wood 'thrush singing, On this deep moss they had rested for a space. Over this stone wall seen a bluebird winging, [45 ] DISENCHANTMENT Or drunk from this cold brook with mirrored face. . . . Too many memories whispered in this place. . . , These pines, these roots, were flesh and blood with her, She stood before him, trembling, in this fir. . . . And suddenly terror took him, and it seemed That she was dead, — yes, lived more truly here. Where still she laughed with birds, in green leaves gleamed, Than in the flesh ; and creeping with strange fear. He felt a ghostly wind, autumnal, drear. And turned, made haste away, behind him heard Low bubbling laughter from an unknown bird. . . . And while the electric motors hummed with speed ' And the reeling green world rushed and whistled by. He thought it strange that he should have such need And yet no help in nature. . . . Should he try. Make one despairing effort, face this lie. Deceive himself to think he loved again? He had endured already too much pain. . . And yet, if he could once but crush his past, With all its tedious dullnessj sliming so Even the first love<'days with threat of the last. . . . What was he thinking? ... He was tired. ... He did not know. . . . [46] DISENCHANTMENT Only, it seemed, if they could somehow go Back to those first bright days, lose all bfetween. All these drab intimate things that crept to intervene, — Yes, leave this city, this house, and all things in it, All these dull people they had known so long. This sky, these trees, these thoughts, and every minute Of the intolerable months that worked this wrong, — Could it not stiU be done? They were both still young. . . . If theysho uld repeat th eirJioggymoon, repeat Places_and times so Joxfed, ---T--WQuld_]ife^seeni once. more sweet? . . . Nq, kjeould not -be done, it was now too .late ; I t wotil dbg,pieixing]y-sweet-rhut- sweet with ^ain ; And after the disappointment, anger, and hate. . . . He had reached the city, and sadly left the train. Thinking he could not love this woman again, This woman whom he had loved so long and well, — It tolled and toUed in his dark heart like a knell. And he ran his hand along a twisted wire In tragic mute perplexity, and thought That it was strange that one could so desire To love a well/known city, or a well-known face, "Yet see it come to nought. [47] DISENCHANTMENT This citv har This city had once seemed such a lovely place ! This face had once seemed strange and holy as fire. He ran his hand along an iron railing And thought that it was sad that life was so ; Life was always, w^here one least expected, failing ; But it was strange, yes, very strange, "^ ' That the lovely things, the things one loved, must go. And that the things one wanted most must change. The evening came, an evening hazy and red, And quiet came. And turning homeward with heavy and listless tread, With a sense of pity, a sense of shame. He cast a last long look at the paling sky, At the houses, and trees, as if to say good'bye To their happiness, which he was leaving there. And then he faced their mutual long despair. But as he smiled at her across the table It solaced him to think. If he could smile, and talk, and never shrink At touch of her hand, or kiss, — That he would, perhaps, if circumspect, be able To make her think he loved, she would not miss [48 J DISENCHANTMENT The fire he missed. ... Or was she thinking now These selfsame things behind that innocent brow? . . . But, no, she murmured that autumn was coming at last, And that, these fi-osty nights. She feared the crickets would not chirp so fast. . . . And as it was growing dark they would have the lights. . . . He took his evening paper, she her sewing, And with little speech, or none, They sat in the lampKt parlor, and heard the seconds going; And when the evening, at last, was done, Lifi:ing the curtain he was surprised to see That stars and a moon were beautiful out there. But were they as beautiful as they used to be ? And would they ever again be what they were ? VI All lovely things wiU have an ending, AH lovely things will fade and die. And youth, that 's now so bravely spending, Will beg a penny by and by. Fine ladies all are soon forgotten. And goldenrod is dust when dead, The sweetest flesh and flowers are rotten And cobwebs tent the brightest head. [49] DISENCHANTMENT Come back, true love ! Sweet youth, return ! — But time goes on, and will, unheeding, Though hands will reach, and eyes will yearn, And the wild days set true hearts bleeding. Come back, true love ! Sweet youth, remain ! — But goldenrod and daisies wither. And over them blows autumn rain, They pass, they pass, and know not whither. THIS DANCE OF LIFE Earth triumphant : Part "Two Season of death, October earth, — Season when winds, with savage mirth. Tear down the pale, the fevered leaves, And cold rains drip along the eaves ; When wind and swift rain all night long Sing Time's forlorn autumnal song ; Season when stars burn bitter clear On naked boughs, on meadows drear, While all earth smokes with suUen fires. And leaves are heaped in flaming pyres ! O earth, who, even in all this sadness. Quietly work for future gladness. Filling your heart with secret mirth Against some coming time of birth, — Filling with last warm suns your veins. And drinking deep of these last rains. So you may rise, so you may sing, Laughing, in the great mirth of spring : O earth ! have pity on man your child, Who, for as often as he has smUed, [SI] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Untoward fortune bids him weep. Sowing in joy, in tears to reap ! ^Though he be yours, like grass or leaf. And do your will, — you give him grief, O earth ! man's mother ! grant him then His ancient simpleness again, — So, though he yield and do thy will. With primal fierceness love and kill. Yet no remorse shall stay behind For what was cruel, what was blind ; \Unmoved by dreams of higher trust, — Springing firom dust and proud of dust ! He did not know how this had come : But suddenly, all his life seemed numb, AU out of harmony with this spring Wherein the whole world seemed to sing. Moodily through the copse he walked And fiercely with his own heart talked. And snapped a bough, and snapped again, And with each breaking felt keen pain, Seeing this young, this budding thing, Cruelly broken thus in spring . . . This broken youth, — was it not he ? Rage blinded him, he could not see, [52 J THIS DANCE OF LIFE But savagely through a thicket strode, Cursed the torn hand whose fresh blood flowed, And short of breath and flushed of face Gained the hill's top, an open space. Below, the valley lay outspread. In checkered green, wherethrough a thread Of shining blue went winding down Through trees and meadow to the town. Town ! the word was a sullen bell. The symbol of an abject hell. . . . Ah, God ! what foUy to be thus flung Into this graveyard, — he, so young! Condemned to pass his whole life here. Maundering round from year to year, Spading his garden, pruning trees. Stealing the honey from his bees ! — A petty life of petty frets, Of baffled hopes and vain regrets. And he, to this, forever chained ! — Then came a thought to him that pained More than all these, — the thought of her Who once had set his pulse astir, — Who once in a magic spring like this Had taken his whole soul with a kiss. The same she was, yet not the same, — For all her wildness now was tame. [ 53 ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE He shuddered to think of years of days Facing her brown and placid gaze, Her gentle mouth, her gentle eyes. Her brow so placid and so wise, — To hear forever toning on Her voice, whose song was long since gone. Rising and falling, sweet and slow, Saying no thing he did not know ! He saw the graceful small hand rise To brush the soft hair from her eyes, — ^ All of her gestures, stiU the same, L-anced through his soul like pitiless flame. Earth had deceived him ! thrown fine dust Into his eyes, and veiled her lust Under the glamorous guise of love; Captured him, bound him, lest he move ! — — AU the repressed youth rose in him, Redly the whirling world went dim, Hot in his heart the youth/fires rose. Those fires long smouldering under snows, And like a flower his ripe heart burst With thirst for Ufe, its stifled thirst. He saw it now ! — By nature sent, She served her end, and now 't was spent, — [54] THIS DANCE OF LIFE She was the soft, the specious lure To wake desires yet immature. The savage lust of life that comes Into the blood with horns and drums ! — Her end was served : 't was plain as day ; And now, by God, she was in the way ! The April twilight lingered long; A robin tuned his sleepy song, Balancing on a dogwood spray, As if regretful of the day. With deepening dusk a silence fell ; And soft, and clear, the steeple bell Sang fi'om the valley into heaven With leisured peace the hour of seven. Straight in the windless lucent air The chimney smokes were rising there; With absent eye he found his own, Now by a puff obliquely blown. . . . His own ! It would not be for long. He fought this mood of evensong. For it brought tranquil apathy. And in his heart, insidiously. Spread a slow peace. . . . The sun was set, There was a scant two hours yet, [55] THIS DANCE OF LIFE And now the eastern sky was starred; So with firm step, and lips pressed hard, And all the youth in him turned steel To meet and crush the heart's appeal, He turned, and groped from tree to tree The dark descent to set him free. She was not strong : she did not fight : Her eyelids fell, her mouth went white. Nor did she reach a hand to him ; But dizzy, feeling her world grow dim. She leaned to the door'-jamb for a space And watched his eyes with frightened face. Chaos of pain ! within her heart She felt the green earth pulled apart, Pulled apart and sinking down With terrible winds about her blown, Winds as heavy and cold as snow. . . . ... He might come back. ... He did not know , He must get out, and Kve, a time, — Yes, live, — by God, it was a crime For one as young, still, as himself, To be forever put on shelf Because, being fooled by love, he wed! Heavens, he might as well be dead. . . . [56] THIS DANCE OF LIFE During the pause he looked away ; He did not know what she might say, What single tone, what single word, What magic sentence long unheard, Which might as swift as lightning/fire Into his heart strike new desire, — Love born of pity, love reborn Out of an old love bruised and torn. . . . But heavy seconds dropped away And still she had no word to say; The clock ticked loud, their two hearts beat ; And when they dared to let eyes meet, At last, her hand groped at her throat, And shrunk and frozen and remote The hurt soul looked up through her eyes ; He felt warm tears, unwished for, rise, His heart filled with them, and he yearned To unsay aU . . . yet coldly turned. Seeing it all impossible, — O so impossible to tell ! — And took his hat up, nearly blind. Stepped out, and closed the door behind. . . . He had but poorly acted wrath ; And as he firmly trod the path, [57 ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Thinking he did not give a damn. Trying to laugh, yet through his sham The memory of her face recurred Terribly white to him, — he heard Through his first blurtings her caught breath, A sharp sound, broken, as of death. And saw the anguished fingers tighten About her other hand, and whiten. . . . Pity ! He would not have the thing. The moon was up and this was spring. The elm/tree leaves were sUvered blue. The moving moonlight checkered through. And here the sleepy brook went down Under the dark bridge to the town. It all seemed hideous and bizarre, — How paltry, beside yonder star ! — What mattered this when life was done. When eatth was firozen, spent the sun ? — . . . Well, it was over how, at last, What he had pondered six months past ! And had it shocked her ? He thought not . . She had foreseen . . . T' was soon forgot. . . . Soft as snow the moonlight lay Upon the roofs along the way, [S8] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Shaking upon these lilac-'trees Which trembled all day long with bees. And through the hushed and moonKt street Lonely he went, with echoing feet : Past the houses gray in sleep And past the steeple dreaming deep. . . . Strange ! but these familiar things Put a troubling, as of wings. Into his heart. ... He laughed and scoffed And scorned himself for being soft. . . . He crossed the brook . . . this water came Past their house, the very same . . . What was she doing alone there now ? Thank God, she had not made a row ! Thank God, it all was done and past. . . . Why did his damned heart beat so fast? Had he done foolishly, or wrong? Madness ! Life was at best a song, — Had you but hardihood to sing. Pity! He would not have the thing! — Yet all night long upon the train Came stabs of ever^recurring pain. Pealing of bells and roaring steam Commingled in tumultuous dream, — [59 1 THIS DANCE OF LIFE A. dream in which a bough he broke Suddenly with his wife's voice spoke, — Rebuked him that he broke her twice ; Her hand in his was cold as ice. Lights everywhere ! a flood of days Roared past him in a tossing maze. His youth broke bounds and lifted him High into rapture, dizzy and dim. And music with a cosmic beat Swept him away on eager feet, — He was untrammeled, once more free : Where pour his whole soul's energy ? Ah, to this music he would dance — And leave his destiny to chance ! And he would walk this Gay White Way, To see these girls come, laughing, gay. In summer muslins, calicoes. With carmined mouth and powdered nose ; Swinging their silver chatelaines, Their reticules with silver chains. Strutting and giggling, humming airs. Linked arm in arm in languid pairs. With subtlest tremor and lift and glide When ragtime music played, inside [60 J THIS DANCE OF LIFE Some gayly lighted music^store Where some one tried a piano^score While eyelids winked and fingers beckoned, And smiles were met and dollars reckoned, And fiddles quavered in cafes. And niggers clogged in cabarets. And in the alleys round stage-'doors, The rich Jews lounged and spat by scores. Each waiting for his chosen queen. His ballet-dancer, lithe chorine. Who came with mad slang on her tongue, And catches from her new show sung. . . . High overhead the electric signs Wreathed and unwreathed their fiery lines, Shedding their hard and splendid glare On towers, on buildings, everywhere. And on pale faces upward turned, Drawn white faces, passion/burned . . . Ah, this was life, this hurrying flow. This irresistible come'-and^'go ! — This world of passion, sounds and lights. Of kisses, curses, drunken fights, — HaU'bedrooms, over noisy streets Where cops were loitering on their beats; Dark stairways, thickly carpeted. To muffle the nocturnal tread, — [6i ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Each with a gas'jet burning low In pallid globe, or red, to throw Fantastic shadows on the ceiling. Grotesquely huddled, sprawling, reeling. When man or woman climbed the stairs Intent upon their own affairs. /Greedily now he drank of this, V Greedy of every curse and kiss. Of sordid lives and ugly deaths, lOf love<'Songs sung by beery breaths, Of flushed young men who went to dine y^ith tawdry harlots pale with wine. The music and the restlessness. The revelry, the weariness ! This was the thing ! Ah, had he stayed. This splendor would have been gainsaid: He would be mouldering in that town, Walking up and walking down . . . God, what a life ! — In thought he lay And mused of that eventful day. And of his standing on the hill Seeing the green vale all so still, — The trees, the meadows, and the stream That flowed so softly, as in dream , , . The chimney /smokes that rose so straight A watch/dog barking at a gate . . . [62] THIS DANCE OF LIFE The bough he broke . . . the sun that set Through twilight mist, all red and wet . . . Whereafter night and silence came. Did life go on, there, just the same ? . . . Curse these thoughts ! they troubled him . . . — For always in the background, dim. The memory of her face recurred Terribly white to him, he heard (The little catching of her breath, lA sharp sound, broken, as of death, JAnd saw her anguished fingers tighten ^About the other hand and whiten , . . Good God ! would these things haunt him then Here in this roaring sea of men ? — He must be active . . . work away These phantoms in the light of day. . . . \put of the East Side rose the sun, And saw before him palely run Through twilight streets, through canyons dim. The stricken hosts who worshiped him. Over the Hudson went he down. And poured red wrath across the town. And set the magic towers afire And touched with music skeins of wire, [63 ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Lighting the ferries in the bay ; And so came night, and so went day. And so the nights and days were spent, — Like hurried clouds of steam they went. Each whitely whirled, was lost in space, — Another phantom took its place, — Red in the waning sun they gleamed, Like mountain waterfalls they seemed ; While to an ever ^changing measure . He danced this dance of life called deasure ' In whirling lights, with human Sces^ In strange and meretricious places. How would it end? — he did not care. He listened, in a crowded square. To one who by a torch/flare screamed Of better worlds by wise men dreamed, And how this rotten world of ours Must be burned down and sown with flowers ; How all the hated great must bleed. To fertilize the soil for seed, For seed of newer, nobler things. When aU men would be equal kings. When life would be a bright romance And men would leave off work to dance ! Tear down, tear down ! The old must die ! He waved his arms, his voice broke high, [64] THIS DANCE OF LIFE There was a murmur of applause; He stormed at governments, at laws, And goaded them to rise, to take, To seize things for themselves, and break, — The mines must shut, the mills must burn, The world was theirs to overturn. If only with courageous hands They fired this life with burning brands ! They were the workers of the world ! Let once their power be massed and hurled Against the kings, and kings would fall : This world was equally for all ! , . . Good stuff! by God, the man was right ! Let life, then, be a glorious fight ! Why live by law ? Life comes but once. He who refuses is but dunce. Laughing at heart he turned away, His life seemed newly rich and gay. The music played, his feet beat time. Why, there was no such thing as crime ! And so he went and seized Irene, Who, for a week, had been his queen, And kissed her mouth, and kissed again, — Winced at a memory that gave pain, — And waltzed her, laughing, off with him, To reel in smoke, by lanterns dim : [65 1 THIS DANCE OF LIFE To swirl arm's length, dip and rise, With beating throat, with half^shut eyes, Hearing the music wail afar. Faintly as if from moon to star. And seeing people past them whirled Like vague dreams from another world. Blow, you horns ! Fiddles, play ! Let darkness be prolonged through day ! Let music rise and music fall. And past the mirrors on the wall All this pageant always sweep Like dancers dreamed of in a sleep ! — Between the dances they slipped out, Leaving the revelry and shout. In a " family bar " to sip a drink. With smutty joke and laugh and wink. She told how a country parson came. Suddenly caught with life's hot flame. Leaving his virtuous past behind. His wife, and church, to go it blind. The hot blood in him long suppressed Roared in his heart and would not rest, And so he planned this secret fling, — Just for a week ! — but, poor old thing, His wickedness met ending grim, — The folding bed shut up on him [66] THIS DANCE OF LIFE And broke his neck; the papers hinted — (You could n't trust one half they printed !) There was a woman who had fled "While they were seeing if he were dead. . . . With wine/fumes burning in their noses / They bought a dozen draggled roses < And then to dance^hall flew once more, ^To dizzy upon a dizzying floor, — ' Feeling like swift waves on the sea That whirled and crested giddily. Shouting their laughter to the sun ; Mirrors and lamps were past them spun, Pale faces glided through the smoke. While breathless ragtimes caught and broke And laughed again and hurried on Through the mad darkness into dawn. . . . A dream it was ! and all that came Therein was tinged and tipped with flame, — The dingy hotel which they found, The narrow stair that wound and wound Up to a skylight, dimly gray, Already paling now with day ; Then laughter, kisses, swift embraces. And fresh cold water soused in faces. And all the fine red web of passion, — Thrown over them in subtlest fashion, — -[67 ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Music that thrilled their finger-'tips And blossomed in their meeting lips. White bodies beautiful with desire. And young eyes beautiful with fire. — Was it a dream ? The noon sun came Into the room like glaring shame, And all that night, so brightly dreamed. Squalid and base and drunken seemed. _Her eyes were red, her face was pale. Her hair was matted, roses stale ; jQlothes were tumbled upon the bed, ^Strewed on the floor were matches dead. And all seemed garish, all seemed grim. Sordid and black it seemed to him . . . ^he world transformed ! his heart knocked slow. Out in the fresh air he would go ; To see the sea/gulls' gliding high And shining golden in the sky. . . . Strange, that such a puerile thing Should make his dull heart leap and sing ! . . . — Down the winding stairs he went And wondered what this sadness meant In Central Park the grass was green ; And through fresh trees the buildings seen, [68] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Myriad/windowed, towering high, Gleamed like castles in the sky. O sweet green earth, O grass and^leaf, — Some secret balm you have for^ief ; The waters plashing slow and cool From fountains in a shadowed pool, — What was it they reminded of? Some half'-forgotten childhood love . . . When life was lovely aU day long And simplest speech was sweetest song. No more than this ? Why, no, no more, — He plucked a maple-leaf and tore Green vein from vein and let it fall. No more ? — Oh, yes ! ... He saw it all ! . . This sweet green world, new washed in rain. Sharply before him brought again The drowsy vale, the sleepy stream That flowed so softly, as in dream . . , The clover /field so warm in sun Wherethrough with bare feet he had run . . , -Why, it was there that he had met . . . Good God ! was that life with him yet ? Habit, no more ! — He tried to smile, Thought it would pass in little while . . . But even as he smiled he fought Fiercely against a creeping thought, [69] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Which he knew well would bring him pain Were it not rooted out and slain. . . . He hurried forth. ... He loathed this place. Yet grief it was that marked his face, ^or though he tried to shut his eyes, And close his ears against these cries, I The memory of her face recurred, \Terribly white to him, — he heard Through his first murder her caught breath, A sharp sound, broken, as of death. And saw the anguished fingers tighten About her other hand and whiten. . . . "daughter, rise ! Music, come ! Into the blood bring horn and drum 1 Sweet violins that edge with pain. Insidiously, the softest strain, — Pulse and sing and blow and beat Faster for the dancing feet ! Clanging cymbals be not mute. Lift your voices fife and flute, Throb, you harps ! cry, clarinets. Mad music for life's marionettes ! . . . Like a whirling sea arise. To suck the dead stars from the skies, — [70] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Sweep those ancient sorrows down In roaring turbulence to drown ! — Fill with sweetest sound the ear, Let no sadness enter here, Let this dance of life called pleasure Move to an ever/'changing measure! Life was a strangely complex thing: He willed to sing, yet could not sing. Had he mistaken, chosen wrong, — c Was not this song the sweetest song? And were not all things woven of flesh, This unbelievably fine red mesh ? Folly ! He only needed change ; Flesh loves the flesh that 's new and strange ; A cool mouth yet unkissed by him, Fertile in unknown laugh and whim, Warm eyes with new depths to explore. Tones firom a throat unheard before ! iTcould riot he — the thought rose dim — That flfisEylKings had wea ned hitn? Nor, sated, that he yearned instead For weavings of a finer thread ? Spirit ? — It was but earth's disguise ! Romantic dream of glamoured eyes 1 £ 71 ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE What madness now to muse of this When all he needed was a kiss ! . , . He took his hat up, smoothed his hair, And walked Broadway to Herald Square. Gracious and lovable and sweet She made his jaded pulses beat ; And made the glare of streets grow dim And life more soft and hushed for him . . Gentle she was, and subtly wise . . . She brushed the dark hair from her eyes And, from a depth of kindness, smiled Trustfully to him, like a child ; Then, flushing feintly, bent her head To loose a knot that twirled her thread, And through the taut silk on its frame Pricked her needle, still the same. Her elbow lifting to draw through The shortening gleam of softest blue. . . The fine rain lashed the window/pane ; Her clock chimed out the hour again ; And all his past life, growing dim. Seemed infinitely small to him, — A dewdrop that in sunshine gleamed, A bright world for an instant dreamed, [7^1 THIS DANCE OF LIFE Through which he saw his small self pass Like ant along a blade of grass. . . , The fine rain pricked the window/pane ; And on the soft wings of this rain There came a loveliness once more Which in some other world, before, He knew not how, or whence, or where, Had touched his heart and made life fair. What was this thing? He did not know. He heard the murmurous water flow Outside the window, down the drain, It seemed like inarticulate pain ; And through these many murmurs heard Her soft voice in a gentle word, Her laughter rising cool and sweet Making his broken life complete, And laying soft hands on his soul, To make his sick heart once more whole. Unreal his whole youth seemed ; and now Only her mouth, her eyes, her brow, Seemed truth to him, — these hands that plied So soft and swift, and at his side This lovely dress, so silken fine, Moulding in such lovely line This slender body, and this breast That rose and fell in slow unrest. . . . [ 73 ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE The words came heavily to his tongue, Heavy and cold and all unstrung ; And vaguely, to his whirling brain. Confusion rose, in which this rain. The murmurous flow, the clock's faint chime That marked the ceaseless lapse of time, And her soft words that rose and fell Cool as water, sweet as bell, Mingled in a rush of sound That swept his giddy senses round. Wet his palms and made his hands Burn on his knees like firebrands, And from his body sucked the breath Leaving the bright room still as death. Annihilation ! . . . Yet he saw. Secure as everlasting law, Her arms in lamplight gleaming bare. Her shadowed face, her burnished hair ; And all the heart in him grew weak Seeing her lips unclose to speak, — The sweet assurance, as she spoke. With which her silken thread she broke. Snipping with scissors, lest it fray. Holding the work, arm's length, away . . . Well, did he like it ? He was dumb : The wished'for music would not come. [ 74] THIS DANCE OF LIFE She laughed and rose and shook- her dress In unimagined loveliness. He hoped that he might see her soon : Next week, he said, there 'd be a moon: Pity to waste it, was it not ? She laughed assent. Her laugh was shot "With subtlest shimmer of trembling fire, — Desire that trembles to meet desire. SBeauty was once more in his world. This fine and delicate. rain that whirled Soft in the arclamp's lighted space Eddying with such silver grace, Was like her eyes, her mouth, her hair, — Her loveliness was everywhere. Earth was become once more concrete. Subtle and exquisite and sweet. The puddles pricked by endless rain Were mingled loveliness and pain. And up Fifth Avenue the row Of lilac lights that glimmered so Upon these huddled hurrying folk. With her own lovely language spoke. . . . Summer had come. The air puffed warm. Lightning presaged the coming storm : [ 75 ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE A tawny lightning, dim and soft, That lit the brown clouds whirled aloft. Out of a florist's window came A tropic sweetness, thick as flame, A man peered forth, the glass was steamed, Intensely vivid the whole world seemed. . . . Then, courting sleep, he lay astare, And stretched his arms out on the air, And yearned for something . . . yearned for her. Some fever in him seemed astir . . . The storm broke. Heavy rain roared down, It seemed as if the world would drown. The torrent rose, it lapped his sill. It whelmed him down, he shrieked ; yet still Through all that chaos, like a moon. Mellow and golden, as in June, Above those hungry waters gleamed Her face, in far-off calmness dreamed. He pushed his blinds out : they were wet. Jeweled with last night's raindrops yet. Along the shutters he made them run. They glistened in the misty sun. Then, flashing, dropped. . . . He watched them fall Dizzily veering down the wall. . . . [76] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Pain could be dropped thus, could it not ? Shaken to earth and soon forgot. . , . The wet roofe in the sunlight gleamed, The park below him basked and steamed, Some gutter^urchins came to play, Ushering in the quiet day, — Waking the hobo, who had spread Last night's paper beneath his head. . , . A sordid world ! — Then suddenly came, Like burst of blossom, rush of flame, A hurdy/gurdy's golden tones. The children frisked upon the stones, The sparrows twittered up to trees. . . . What lyric opulence, what ease ! And all this world that only now Seemed dreary as a leafless bough. Trembled a manymusicked thing, ~<^ried to the filling heart to sing, Cried for song from a world of throats, I A song of love's impassioned notes ! — A sweet, an unexpected change. Breath of romance. . . . Yet, it was strange, ■ This joy now swelled his heart to pain, Making him live past joy again ; This music's golden richness bore Back to his first love's kiss once more [77] THIS DANCE OF LIFE His tired heart, and it was spring, — He saw the bluebird's flashing wing. The orchards bloomed, the hiUs were green. The world paid homage to his queen. Blossom and scent were all for her. Her music set the spring astir! — What magic made that face so sweet ? Why had it made his pulses beat ? A mystery ! it all had passed . . , He mused. . . . The day was overcast By vague reluctances, regret. But had it passed ? Or lived it yet ? Why in this instant's pang of bliss Did he return to first love's kiss ? The music stopped. . . . And now the park Seemed once more wet and drab and dark. Drops pattered down firom boughs of trees. The hobo yawned and scratched for fleas. The sparrows jargoned in the street, A slattern woman scuffed her feet, . . . And all was sordid as at first. An ugly world, a world accursed. What had so poisoned it, what blight.? It had been all so fair last night. Before his glass with vacant eye Pallid he stood and tied his tie, [78] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Then dropped his hands and stood at gaze, And wondered, dully, of past days. And wondered where his life would turn. . His heart was aching, seemed to yearn : For what ? He hardly dared to think : It was a thought that made him shrink. He looked out on the park instead : The sun again ! — Yet, in his head. Turmoil of darkness took slow shape, Merciless, there was no escape. He fought it down and yet it rose. His spellbound eyelids would not close. It laid a black hand on his heart And tore it pitilessly apart. He loved her still ! — he loved her still ! Out of his night the words came shrill. Vibrant with fear. Yet, did he love ? His heart lay quiet, did not move. While with a slow and anguished brain He took his thoughts up, pain by pain. And laid them open with cold hand Better to know and understand. Passion? There was no passion, no. That had been over long ago. But quieter love — affection? Yes. Was it of flesh, this loveliness? [ 79 ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE It was of flesh — but subtler flesh, An infinitely subtler mesh, Which fine as moonlight cast its spell On body, and yet, on mind as well. . . . He had been mad ! His heart ran dry. No woman would ever satisfy His whole soul as this woman had. What folly, my God! He had been mad. Go back to her ? His red brain whirled, Chaos descended on the world, A tumult beat upon his brain. Each beat an everlasting pain, A cosmic beat, a cosmic word, — He could not, no. And yet he heard, Despite the rising of this face That only last night brought him grace, Despite this newer voice that came Into his heart like April flame. He heard (and writhed with guilt of crime It seemed as if for thousandth time). Through his first murder her caught breath, A sharp sound, broken, as of death; And saw the anguished fingers tighten About her other hand and whiten. . . . [80] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Laughter, rise ! Music, come ! Into the blood bring horn and drum ! Sweet vioKns that edge with pain, Insidiously, the softest strain ! Pulse and sing and blow and beat Faster for these dancing feet ! Clanging cymbals be not mute. Lift your voices, fife and flute. Throb, you harps, cry, clarinets, Mad music for life's marionettes ! Like a raging sea arise To sweep the dead stars from the skies, Crash these ancient sorrows down In roaring turbulence to drown> Fill with sweetest sound the ear, Let no sadness enter here, (Let this dance of life called pleasure Move to an ever/changing measure ! The house fell dark; the chatter stopped; The master's baton rose and dropped; And from that darkness, sweet and slow. From underworlds, began to flow A threadlike music, shining thin, Spun from a single violin. [8i ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Out of the pulsing dark it came, The prelude of a little flame, Divinely soft, divinely singing. Sweetly persuasive, laughing, clinging. Faintly dividing, shyly merging. Complaining now, now warmly urging. And now the baton wider beat. The music opened broad and sweet. And like a moonlit river flowed ; Now it darkened, now it glowed. And now the small stars danced therein. To voice of elfin violin; And now beneath dark woods it passed Where all was black and overcast. Only a murmur in the night ; And now it sang in blinding light. . . . The world dissolved as faint as dream. His soul went downward with this stream. Knowing laughter, knowing tears. Through eternities of years. Living bright lives in a breath. Through death to love again and death, Now a star and now a sun Round whom the planets laugh and run. Now a moon and now the earth Changing always death and birth: [82 ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Wearing green and wearing gray Through alternate night and day. . , . Against the pit, as black as jet, The master stood in silhouette, He waved his arm, his baton beat, The music followed upward sweet. While in the luminous pit below. With earnest faces all aglow. All the musicians leaned intent Upon their lamplit music bent, And all the bows on all the strings Moved like bright inspired things. In sweetest concord, tone and time, Struck triangles shivered chime ; Flutes and horns blew mellow sighs ; The symphony began to rise Rapidly, on shining wing, A living, pulsing, breathing thing ; It poured its heart, a flood of light. Singing and crying in this night; It cried to all things, near and far. Impassioned love for moon and star, And all the pain of all the world Through this passion flamed and whirled ! Triumphant love ! his heart rose high Exultant in a starlight sky 1 [83 J THIS DANCE OF LIFE New love was shining, old love dead. And all his griefs at last were shed. Fallen, like last year's leaves, to earth Beneath this new and perfumed mirth ! Come night, come day ! come sun, come rain ! Sweetly this blossom bloomed from pain. Gracious and lovable and sweet. She made his jaded pulses beat. And made the glare of streets grow dim And life more soft and hushed for him, . . Over her shoulder now she smiled Trustftilly to him, like a child. The while her fingers gayly moved Along these white keys dearly loved. Making them laugh a jocund measure. Making them show and sing her pleasure. A smile that dwelt upon his eyes. To see what mood might therein rise, — What point of soft light seen afer Which might dilate to moon or star. . . . A smile that for a second's space Brooded wistfully on her face. Opening soft her spirit's door, Disclosing depths undreamed before : [84] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Passionate depths of half/seen flame. Young loveliness despising shame, Desire that trembled to meet desire, And fire that yearned to fuse with fire. , . And lightly then she turned away. Ironic music rippled gay, — Subtle sarcastic flippancies Disguising speechless ecstacies . . . 'Play something else . . ." He rose to turn The pages, while the deep nocturne -Struck slow rich chords of plangent pain. Beautiful, into heart and brain ; A tortured, anguished, suffering thing That seemed at once to cry and sing ; Despairing love that strove to find The face beloved with fingers blind. He saw her body's slender grace, This drooping shoulder, shadowed face ; All of her body, hidden so In saffron satin's flush and flow, — Its white and simple loveliness, — Came on his heart like giddiness. Seductive as this music came ; Until her body seemed like flame, — Intense white flame, so swifi:ly moving That it gave scarcely time for loving ; [8S] THIS DANCE OF LIFE But rapid as the sun she seemed, A blinding light that flowed and streamed And sang and shone through roaring space. The sun itself! for now her face, Wherein this music's whole soul dwelt, Drew him like helpless star, he felt A fierce compulsion, reckless, mad, A sweet compulsion, troubled, glad. His trembling hands went out to her. Her cool flesh made his senses blur; I While, head thrown backward, sinking dim. She opened wide her soul to him. . , . Past his life went whirls of lights, /chaos of music, days and nights. Her wild eyes yearned to lure him in And close him up in dark of sin. To lure him in and drink him down And all his soul in love to drown. . . . Her nakedness he seemed to see. -And breast to breast, and knee to knee. Tremulous, breathless, swaying, burning. Body to beautiful body yearning. In joy and terror, flesh to flesh. They flamed in passion's fine red mesh, — [86] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Living in one short breath again The cosmic tide's whole bliss and pain, Darkness and ether, nebulous fire. Vast suns whirled forth by vast desire. Huge moons flung out with monstrous mirth And stars in glorious hells of birth, AH jubilating, blazing, reeling, In orgiastic splendor wheeling. Moon torn from earth and star firom sun In screaming pain, titanic fiin, ^And stars whirled back to sun again To be consumed in flaming pain ! . . . 1 In them at last all life was met : They were God's self! This earth had set. Mad fires of life sang through their veins. Ruinous blisses, joyous pains. Life the destroyer, life the breaker, NAjid death, the everlasting maker. . . . Slow and sweet the silence falls On moonlit walks and moonlit walls. Sweet and slow, in fainting chime. Far bells tell the death of time. Who was this who lifi:ed face. Laughing, into time and space? [87 ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Who was this who sang awhile Beholding his beloved smile ? Vast and dark the river glides Till it lose itself in tides ; Vast and dark as music going, Answerless into silence flowing. Now the violins are mute, Faintlier wails the voice of flute. Through the darkness only comes, Remote and vague, the rush of drums. Lights a moment on this stream Trembled with a floating gleam. Lahips a moment in this night Opened little eyes of light. Now the darkness drinks once more Lapping ripples and silent shore. Now the music and singing flame Return to darkness whence they came. The world concrete again and cold. The moon made lovely to behold This softly sleeping, weary face, Touching it with an elfin grace ; [88] THIS DANCE OF LIFE And infinitely sad she seemed While in the moonlight here she dreamed. The curtains lifted in the wind ; The stars accused him; he had sinned ; Yet calm the night was, calm and stiU, A soulless, calm, unhurrying will. . . . He lay and stared. His heart beat slow. The sluggish blood seemed scarce to flow. And then, with sadly curious hand, As if he yearned to understand. He touched this young and lovely cheek, And all his youth began to speak With painful and tumultuous tongue. Making his gray heart sweet and young. What had he come to? Then, like flame, Remorse through all his senses came ; Over those housetops he saw far; And underneath that distant star Saw the green valley, and the stream That flowed so softly, as in dream. . . . And once again, in bitterness, He saw that wounded loveliness, A loveliness struck down by him For dreartied^of lovelinesses dim ; And now that gentle face recurred Terribly white to him, he heard [89] THIS DANCE OF LIFE Through his first blurtings her caught breath, A sharp sound, broken, as of death. And saw the anguished fingers tighten About her other hand arid whiten. . . . Ah, God, what shame ! He had not meant ^To give this pain : yet so life went. And so and always life would go: Always new loveliness to know. Always the dead love cast behind And greedy hands thrust outward, bKnd. . . . Ah, God, what shame ! A little while. And this new face that made him smile, So soft, so sweet, this gracious brow. This dusky hair his hand touched now, — Would like that other leave him cold ; The story would be all retold ; And all the troubled days thereafter Even in midst of sudden laughter When with flill heart he leaned to woo. This old love still would haunt the new, — Shooting his ecstasies with pang. Quietly crying while he sang; And in the new love's eyes would be This old love, brooding wistfully. . . . [90 ] THIS DANCE OF LIFE A light wind blew ; the curtains stirred; The east grew pale ; a sleepy bird Sang a few notes, then life was still: A calm, unhurrying, soulless will. THE END CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . A