CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BEQUEST OF STEWART HENRY BURNHAM 1943 Cornell University Library PS 3535.0124702 One woman to another,and other poems,bi 3 1924 021 671 007 The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021671007 ONE WOMAN TO ANOTHER ONE WOMAN TO ANOTHER AND OTHER POEMS BY CORINNE ROOSEVELT gOBINSON AUTHOB OF " TEE CALL OF BBOTHEBHOOD " NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1914 CotTHIGHT, 1914,^T CHARLES SCBIBNER'S SONS Published October, 1914 TO CORINNE EOBINSON ALSOP MT DAUGHTER, MY FRIEND MY VALUED CRITIC CONTENTS rAQE One Woman to Another 1 Could I Foeget? 7 If I Could Purge My Love 8 Juggernaut 9 If You Should Cease to Love Me .... 10 "And Men shall Kill that which They Love" 12 Forfeit 15 Miriam, "Loved of God" 16 From a Motor in May 17 Spring on the Mountain 18 Sonnet to a Satyr . . 20 Running in the Rye 21 Bob White 22 June on the Mountain 24 Indian Summer 25 A Fragment 26 vii PAGE By an Open Window in Church 27 Mount Balsam 28 The Metropolitan Tower from Orange Moun- tain 29 Lines to a Friend on Parting after Six Weeks IN India 30 The Future of Chivalry 33 Vera Cruz 37 To Forbes Robertson, as Hamlet .... 38 "Absent Thee from Felicity Awhile" . . 39 The Poet 40 Hostage 41 The Night Before 44 Life, a Question.? 47 Solution 48 A Kentucky Grave 50 Love is a Talent 54 If I Were not so Young 55 Love's Arrears 56 Which? 57 In Prison 58 God's Fair World 63 Gethsemane 65 Spring and Grief 66 viii FAGS Autumn and Grief . 67 Motherhood 68 After 72 Fear 73 IX ONE WOMAN TO ANOTHER ONE WOMAN TO ANOTHER "V/OU are the friend of all his early years; * He told me that the bond was strong and close. His comrade, his companion, even more. For in your veins there flowed the same hot blood That coursed in his, — your mothers, sisters, — born In selfsame hour, linked by that close tie. Thus were their children knit by call of flesh — Often he told me that you never failed. And that when others, with averted gaze. Would have him know his own unworthiness. Your eyes held only memories of the past With hope for fairer future in their depths — Loyal and loving in their tender blue, Fit mirror for the loyal, loving heart. Come with me, then, and stand beside him here; How still he lies, who was in love with life ! Ah ! yes, his face is sweet to look upon, 1 The restlessness is gone and all the lines Are softened back once more to vanished youth, And that strange look, so foreign to his heart, Which came because his cruel enemy held So fierce and firm a sway — it, too, is gone — And so your tender kiss upon his brow Falls on the face your childhood knew so well. The last words that he spoke were all for you. In fierce delirium his accents fell. Murmuring with contentment "She will come" — And now that you are here my bursting heart Must pour out all its anguish, all its joy — For joy there was, though now this bitter pain. I was of that strange world you cannot know. The "half- world" with its glamour and its glare. Its sin and shame; where men, like ravening wolves, Feed on the bodies and the souls of us Who, either steeped in callous wickedness. Or reckless with a dull and hopeless dread Of cold and hunger and all bitter things. Are willing, nay, are sometimes even glad. To yield our outer selves for inner warmth. And yet I shrank, for I was young, — so young — And very simple, made for better things. One night he came and looking in my face 2 He said: "You have a true and tender heart, If you will come with me I'll shelter it, For I am weary and athirst for love." Thus, then, I went. At first I only knew That I could eat until I had enough, That I could sleep without the haunting thought Of what the dreaded day was sure to bring; But soon a great and mighty passion grew O'erwhelming both my body and my soul Because he was so very good to me — Never a harsh or cruel word or deed. And even when the fire filled his brain. For me he only had the anguished look That seemed to pray me to forgive him all. You, who have never known the fierce, hot fumes That rise and choke the very soul of man And blur the tottering reason till it fall. How can you judge of him, and how could she Whose fair white bosom was a thought too chaste To pillow a repentant weary head? But I who knew the evil of the world Could never shrink before so sad a thing; My breast was ready for that burning brow, My hands to clasp his hands, my lips to meet His sad petitions that I hold him close. 3 And so the mother that is in us all Joined with the love of woman unto man And gave me strength to battle for his sake. Only, when in his eyes I read the look That longed for her, my swift resentment rose; And sometimes when he stroked the soft fair coil Of ash-gold hair that crowned my drooping head, I almost flung the tender hand aside. Because I knew he dreamed of other hair That he had loved, when eyes as soft as mine Smiled into his and pledged their marriage vow. Then, sometimes, friends of his would come and speak Of that fair world of yours, unknown to me. And afterward he would be lost in gloom. Or quick to let the Beast spring out and grip His shattered being in relentless sway. And sometimes they would whisper when they went Saying, "Poor fellow, he will die some day With boots on, in some cheap and drunken brawl. " Then I, who heard, did register a vow That he I loved should never perish so. Look at him now in fair and cleanly sheets. The picture of his mother near his hand, And all the darkened room as sweet and fresh As was the memory of his mother's home; For when he fell to-day, I heard the cry And saw him lying, and I ran to lift His fallen body from the cold hard stones; With strange, undreamed of strength I bore him up And laid him here, where, quick, with eager hands I dragged the boots from off the weary feet So that harsh prophecy should not come true, While he was moaning like a little child In wild delirium your very name. And so I sent for you, and you have come, Although too late to listen to his words. Yet not too late to hear what I must say — Surely, the Christ whose very name is love Will hear me too, for long ago He said Of that poor woman who had been like me: "She has loved much, so much shall be forgiven." So now, perchance, my prayer for him I love Will reach the far and heavenly mercy-seat Where Christ, who waits with wide, condoning arms. Shall welcome him because of what he did — Because he taught me what a holy thing Is human love, and by his gentleness He saved my vagrant and despairing soul. 5 Then God, who is our Father, can but save His erring soul by love that is divine — What! you would kiss me? Yes, I take your kiss; We are both women, and we both have loved ! COULD I FORGET? r^OUlD I forget that I have held the best ^■^ Of this Earth's treasures in my fervent grasp- Then should I be content to sadly clasp The wreck of beauty, and my soul might rest! But I, who thought I knew the perfect whole, Must still remember that lost ecstasy. And so this lesser thing you proffer me But sets the seal of anguish on my soul! IF I COULD PURGE MY LOVE TF I could purge my love and make it pure ^ Of all except the essence of divine; If I could turn to crystal flood its wine And change to peace its passion and allure, Then, like a holy flame in paths obscure. Lift its translucent light and make it shine A beacon to some other soul than mine. Perchance I might my loneliness endure. But I am weak and woman, and my heart Falters before the last great sacrifice, A stumbling-block to stay my ardent will; And thus I must accept the lesser part And try forever just to blind my eyes Until my craven heart is cold and still. JUGGERNAUT nPHE love that I would banish from my heart * Has nothing for me now but bitter pain, And yet it holds me and will not depart Nor leave my tortured soul to peace again — And all my brooding spirit cries to God, Just, for one single hour to turn Time's wheel. Remit the sentence, stay the righteous rod, And all the beauty of the past reveal. Let me once more believe that Love was deep. Impregnable, unbartered for desire. And I, who sowed the wind, would gladly reap The burning whirlwind of its flaming fire, — But, no ! the adamantine wheels roll on. And faith, and peace, and purity are gone ! IF YOU SHOULD CEASE TO LOVE ME TF you should cease to love me, tell me so ! * I could not bear to feel your ardent hand That waked the chords of life to understand. Hold mine less closely; no. Beloved, no; If you should cease to love me, tell me so! If you should cease to love me, do not dare To meet me with a masque of tenderness; I could not stoop to suffer one caress That any other had a right to share, — If you should cease to love me, do not dare! If you should cease to love me, do not fear — I would not have you think I made one claim. If your great love should pass, there is no blame; For love grown cold, I would not shed a tear, — If you should cease to love me, do not fear! 10 If you should cease to love me, let us part, As friends who part for all eternity; Let us make grave and reverent obsequy For what was once our very soul and heart — If you should cease to love me, let us part ! But while you love me, keep our hearts' deep faith As some High Priest would guard the holy place; Let me not see the shame upon your face Of one unworthy of Love's vital breath. So while you love me, keep our hearts' high faith ! Thus, if you cease to love me, save my soul By having kept our love so pure and high That if the time must come when it shall die, I may retain my treasure fair and whole, — If you should cease to love me, — save my soul! 11 "AND MEN SHALL KILL THAT WHICH THEY LOVE" " AND men shall kill that which they love!' ■'* Alas ! that I should prove This sorry truth! I, in whose eager youth. Myself did dedicate To true love's high estate, — That I should bring such dread and dire fate Upon that, which to me Stood with the Deity ! Yours was a spirit that had never quailed, No matter how assailed. Yours was a heart That would have borne the dart Of each indignity That had not come from me, Nor bowed a vanquished head. But now I see 12 That spirit faint and dead. Because I failed In fine fidelity ! I cannot make it true That I have so killed you, That my strong arm. Which longed to guard you safe from every harm, Has been the weapon that has dealt the blow Which lays you low, — That my weak Faith Has done you unto Death! I had not thought to yield To any man my right to stand as one Who wooed the fiercest rays of Truth's hot sun To break upon my shield. And yet — After long years of such liege loyalty, With wild regret I pay the sad arrears Of bartered Faith's decree. And you — That which I loved and killed — 13 Your anguish now is stilled. You, who once knew the gleam of perfect things, You, who were wafted high on Love's strong wings, Now fallen to earth by sudden heaviness, — What torture to the one who struck the blow That he should know That you, so silent now, feel no distress — Dead of Love's littleness ! 14 FORFEIT IVyiUST there be forfeit of such gift and grace •* " * That we should hear this faint and feeble cry, And see frail fingers searching helplessly The frigid marble of the mother's face, As though to claim a loved and lost embrace? Is there no answer to the fierce, blank "Why?" That springs unto our lips resentfully Until they may not frame or prayer or praise ? Would life be fairer could we understand The law immutable of sacrifice. That we must lose to gain, must pay the toll Even of death? If we could see God's hand Perchance our forfeit were a petty price Before the wonder that He shall unroll! 15 MIRIAM, "LOVED OF GOD" 1\ AIRIAM, "Loved of God," my little child, -^ ' ^ I anguished so that thou mightst come to me. And now my being bleeds as poignantly, My mother's heart can scarce be reconciled That God has called thee, pure and undefiled. Back to His presence. It would seem that He, Miriam, "Loved of God," had need of thee. Yet I can still rejoice that thou hast smiled And lived to bless me for this fleeting hour. For in my soul has grown the wondrous power Of perfect motherhood, the one sublime And stainless passion of the human heart, And though our God has willed that we should part, I am a mother to the end of time! 16 FROM A MOTOR IN MAY T^HE leaves of Autumn and the buds of Spring A Meet and commingle on our winding way — And we, who glide into the heart of May, Sense in our souls a sudden quivering. What though the flash of blue or scarlet wing Bid us forget the night in dawning day. Skies of November, sullen, sad, and gray. Once hung above this withered covering. There is no Spring that Autumn has not known, Nor any Autumn Spring has not divined, — The odor of dead flowers on the wind Shall but enrich a fairer blossoming. And though they shiver from a breeze outblown. The leaves of Autumn guard the buds of Spring. 17 SPRING ON THE MOUNTAIN JOVE of mine, come climb the height *— ' Far beyond the thirsty plain, There we'll find our lost delight. There the Spring is born again ! High above this dreamy dell Where her first-born flowers fade We shall see her in the spell Of her coming. In the glade Where the balsam branches spread Shadows o'er the deeper blue Of the violets we thought dead. There the bellwort's golden hue Rivals still the sunlight's gleam, — Come! my heart is wild and gay With the glory of the dream Of a reincarnate May ! 18 Love of mine, I cannot wait, For our joy attends, aloof — Let us go with hearts elate There to put it to the proof. What if, as we meet the Spring Evanescent, frail and fair, Swift, on its elusive wing. Our lost youth should greet us there! 19 SONNET TO A SATYR LINES WRITTEN FOR A FIGURE CARVED BY PHILIP SMITH WILD creature of the woods whose merry hoof Has trampled many a fine and tender blade Amid the forest where remote, aloof, Thou sportest in nymph-haunted sylvan glade. Anon, with reed against thy mirthful lips. Pan's music thou evokest, shrill and clear, Until the -flying bird, affrighted, dips Her far spread wings that she may pause and hear What message she may find of swift alarm In your quick note; but soon again she sweeps The broad horizon without thought of harm. Seeing thee lie there while Dame Nature keeps Her tender watch above thy graceful rest. Holding thy form against her loving breast. 20 RUNNING IN THE RYE T^HERE'S a boy, a little fellow, '^ And he's running in the rye — Tumbled hair with tints of yellow. And the color of the sky Shining in the starry wonder of his deep and dreamy eye. How he races, as he chases First a gleaming butterfly. Swift to follow then a swallow — Dipping, floating, sailing by, Skimming o'er the brimming billows of the un- dulating rye! He is Spring-time, he is sing-time, And the joy that grief has slain Wells within me like a torrent Till it purges me of pain — And the passion that I bear him Floods my heart with youth again ! 21 BOB WHITE T HAVE stumbled in the stubble, ^ I have lingered in the lane, I have taken every trouble Just to hear your voice again. For I want to see you closer. Though I'm sure that you are plain ! Now I know just how a lover Feels about a "hot pursuit." It was broiling in the clover, And I could have been a brute If I only might have found you. But you suddenly were mute ! After singing all the morning — Sometimes late into the night — When I follow — without warning Then you take to shameless flight, For I never, never find you, Most elusive Robert White! You're delusive, Mr. Bobby — That is why I like you so. You're intrusive, that's your hobby. Or at least you strike me so — You're exclusive and so snobby, All your traits are poor, I know. Yet I stumble in the stubble. And I linger in the lane. Pray, why do I take such trouble When I hear your note again? For I know that if I found you I should think you very plain ! JUNE ON THE MOUNTAIN T^HERE'S a rhododendron thicket -* Where the Laurel River flows, Shining leaf and gleaming blossom. Pearly white and radiant rose. Shading deep, and ever deeper Where the richer purple glows. June is waning on the mountain. And the kalmia's petals fall. But the rhododendron thicket Rises like a glistening wall — Twining, blinding all our pathway Under hemlocks straight and tall. As the sun sinks over Round Top, All the glittering bud and bloom Seem to vanish in the shadow Of the valley's sudden gloom — Winds amid the pines primeval Shiver with the summer's doom! 24 INDIAN SUMMER PAIR fallacy of Nature whose pale skies *■ Would cheat us with a mockery of Spring, As though behind them undiscovered lies The great renewal, — Indian Summer, — bring Back to my heart the glory that was June, Before the withered bud, the fallen leaf. Mirage of Autumn hours — I commune Once more with joy's fulfilment in the brief Sweet ecstasy that you afford the heart. I yield in acquiescence, lulled by scent Wafted from breezes that have played their part In softer moments; now, alas ! but lent By Nature in a garment of disguise To blind, with sweets foregone, my willing eyes. 25 A FRAGMENT /^H ! quiet hour of happy vagrancy ! ^-^ To float upon the river's tranquil breast. Content to lie and watch how aimlessly It follows its meandering, random quest Through meadows where the noontide's drowsy hush Is only quickened by a sylvan thrush. Apart, as though in some far golden dream, I lie and muse; with indolent delight I catch the shadows where the lilies gleam In serried rows of yellow and of white, And wonder that the world is so in tune — Till I remember you are here, — and June! 26 BY AN OPEN WINDOW IN CHURCH T HEAR the music of the murmuring breeze, * It mingles with the preacher's quiet word; Dim, holy memories are waked and stirred, I seem to touch once more my mother's knees. Christ's human love. His spirit mysteries Envelop me. It is as though I heard An angel choir in the singing bird That floats above the fair fuU-foliaged trees. The old sweet Faith is singing in my breast With peace in Nature's summer subtly blent, All of my being breathes a deep content — Life and its unremitting, baffled quest Fade into this rich sense of perfect rest — My soul, renewed, is steeped in sacrament. 27 MOUNT BALSAM T STAND upon the heights beneath the blue, ^ Wide, sunlit spaces of a sky, cloud-torn. Below, far ranges on my vision dawn. Transfused in soft and amethystine hue. I feel, perchance, as some great god would do At the first break of an Olympian morn. When to his primal senses freshly borne, He caught the wonder of the world he knew. So might Apollo thrill, when flying rein And fiery chariot flung the day outspread; Thus Proserpine, as all the fields of grain Blossomed beneath her cool, creative tread; Or Jupiter, with joy that stabbed like pain, Looked in the eyes of Juno, newly wed ! THE METROPOLITAN TOWER FROM ORANGE MOUNTAIN AN oval opal, shining in the mist, •'* Set amid battlements which, like a dream. Some fairy palace guarding close would seem. Shot through with azure and with amethyst. You rise a beacon, by the breezes kissed, Forever beckoning, wooing, as the gleam In longing eyes that wait at some dear tryst. Like a mirage in fever-fetid lands Luring the traveller from the heat accursed. You seem a magic thing not built with hands. But moulded to allay our vision's thirst. Above the sullen city's sordid slime You point us upward to the far sublime ! LINES TO A FRIEND ON PARTING AFTER SIX WEEKS IN INDIA T~^EAR fellow-traveller, pleasant friend; ■^^^ 'Tis sad we near our journey's end, And now the "parting of the ways" Hangs like a pall upon. our days — An "Indian Summer" we have spent With which the winter weeks have blent Until we really hardly knew Which season 'twas; for skies so blue Have crowned so many charming hours It surely was the "time of flowers." Please don't forget your comrade when The busy world shall claim you, then A special loyalty 'twould be To give a wandering thought to me, — A train of thought just send my way As long as up to Mandalay ! 30 Remember Ahmedabad's procession Where we were seized by an obsession For Hindu weddings; wreathed in flowers We whiled away the twilight hours — And Udaipur ! ah ! fairy palace, A "wonderland" where many an "Alice" Might lose her way in happy dreaming, And soon forget to be, in seeming ! Oh ! silent cranes that fly to rest Above the water's placid breast, And light that flushes as it closes And turns the sky to ash of roses, — Full long, in memory's amber pressed. Will dwell that scene I love the best. Then Chitore's towers of Victory Against a dark and murky sky. They dominate the long-dead past. And teach us Beauty's worth at last. From Delhi and from Agra, too. We learn that Art and Love are true; We prayed before the Taj Mahal That stands a living seneschal, To guard a love that cannot die For love outlives all history. And once again our souls replied 31 When Sunrise on its crimson tide Swept over Kinchin junga's height And bade the day destroy the night ! It seems to me when we respond To sights like these, a subtle bond Is forged, — and never heart from heart Can after such a union part — And so though oceans roll between We're ever linked in what has been — "Es ist so schon gewesen," Friend, That such a tie can never end! S2 THE FUTURE OF CHIVALRY LINES READ AT A DEBATE VXmAT shall become of Chivalry? ' ' The very word spells Arcady — And visions o'er my fancy play Of those brave knights of yesterday ! Launcelot and Bors and young Gawaine Go tilting through the woods again, The shadowy woods where lutes were strung And love-knots from the branches hung; Where lovely maiden in distress, Soft shielded by her loveliness Had but to call to any swain To rescue her from any pain. The modern Launcelot, half a knight, Perchance might leave her to her plight. While modem Bors is spelled with "e," There were no bores in Arcady! And modem Gawaine, worst of all, — 33 Is only summoned when things pall, And then, alas ! for him — poor swain — His name — dismembered — spells but gain ! And so, alack-a-day ! Ah, me ! What shall become of Chivalry? Fair Woman, we must turn to you — (In any stress we always do) The future of this gracious art, Lies only in your subtle heart. And would you not confess it lost. Just pause awhile and count the cost. Through you alone it must survive, Man cannot keep this hope alive — Dear Chivalry, a beggar, prays That you should save him from disgrace. That you should in his cause enlist, Though Suffragette, or Suffragist. — Forget there is a Bernard Shaw — Or "Self-expression" — new-made law — Forget Eugenics, put aside The many modem fads allied, "Sex problems" of biology, 34 And all the strange doxology That rings with every ill and ism That color Life's illusive prism. If you would keep your old-time place Call back the half-forgotten grace That haloed love, and hallowed life. And made the game, seem worth the strife — And put aside the fallacy That one can be one's own "per se." One's life can never be one's own, Too strong the grasp, too deep the groan Of other lives that grip the soul And stand between us and our goal; For life is like a giant tree That stretches up right valiantly, But every branch must brush another. And every tendril bind a brother ! So, would you keep fair Chivalry, Don't crush it by your "right to be Just your own self" — ^Put "Self-expression" Away with "Cubes" and "Post-impression." Give heart, and soul, and love a chance. And happiness, with song and dance 35 And praise and prayer and gracious things, That Hft us from the earth on wings. Oh, Woman, give us back our right To simple things of deep delight. Just be a woman, if you can, And Chivalry '11 come back to man! 36 VERA CRUZ T^HEY called for the Youth of the nation, * And swift at the call, Marines and the Middies were ready To fight and to fall. They dreamed of a past that was glory, And glory to be, Of a flag that was waving in triumph On land and on sea. No war ! But a mother is weeping, A father grown old — No war ! But a harvest is reaping Of hearts that are cold. No war! But the Country was calling And theirs not to choose, The North and the South had their heroes, And so — ^Vera Cruz ! 37 TO FORBES ROBERTSON, AS HAMLET INTERPRETER of mighty moods and men, ^ Creator of a Hamlet so supreme, Shakespeare's incarnate thought is born again To shape us Life — the substance and the dream. And yet thy very Hamlet falsifies His own sad words. Imperious Caesar's clay May stop a hole, but Caesar's will denies The earth, the ages, and their brief decay. The immemorial cycles count him great. Just as forever from the wheel of Fame, Each revolution shall but dedicate Another spark to thy immortal name. "The rest is silence." — Words may not impart The majesty and magic of thy art. 38 "ABSENT THEE FROM FELICITY AWHILE" TO J. S. E. 'yVBSENT thee from felicity awhile"— ■**^ Your voice, sonorous, lingers on the line, I see the tender ardor of your smile And meet your eyes that claim the thought in mine. 'Twould seem you answer only to the sound Of Shakespeare's melody, your smile and eyes Though lit with depth of meaning, have not found The desolation that half hidden lies Beneath the genius of the perfect word; But I, being woman, not alone to art. But to the world's great loneliness am stirred. Conscious of all the emptiness of heart That I shall feel when you no more for me With loyal love can make felicity ! 39 THE POET T^HE Poet should be one who sings, ^ Whose rhythmic music lilts and rings With images inspired; And he must be the Seer who sees Beyond his utmost melodies. Until, with soul afired. He brings the waiting world the word That only Seer and Singer heard! 40 HOSTAGE TIFE, wilt thou wait awhile ■*— ' And let me smile? Before the stress and turmoil have begun. Grant me one hour. One hour of golden dalliance in the sun. The fair, sole dower To hold forever close against my breast, And so forever rest In happy knowledge that joy has been mine; That in my veins like wine Has run the glamour of the sunlight's glow; That winds so soft and low Have brought me fragrance of the distant brine. Or honey-sweet amid the Spring-touched trees Have swept the scent of these Unto my eager senses, till I seem A part of my own dream. My dream of youth And nature's flowering. Life, let me sing ! 41 Wilt thou not stand aside Until with all the fair world's gifts allied I shall have armor of delight to bring Against the fierce, hot sting Of thine assault when that dread day shall come? I promise thee, O Life, I shall be dumb. Nor utter one reproach, if only now I may go forth with gay uplifted brow And meet my golden hour of happy fate — Life, wilt thou wait? I am no coward — when the trumpet calls. Valiant, my feet shall climb the crumbling walls. My breast be bared to hail of shot and shell; But now, while all is well. Let me hold fast To this sweet hour that it shall ever last, A hostage for the future and the fight Thus when the darkness comes and clash of arms And all my soul is sick with fierce alarms. The healing light, The peace of what has been. Shall guide me through the din, 42 And pledge me promise of what is to be; Thus may I see My happy hour once more restored to me, Transfigured, dim, perchance, yet glorified Although with Death allied ! So be it, then — if now. Stem Life, if thou Wilt wait a little while, And let me smile ! 43 THE NIGHT BEFORE WHY should I linger in these cramping walls And yield my being to their dull constraint ? Why should I bow before this dread disease That creeps so slowly through my languid limbs That it may never reach my burning heart Before it kills the fire of my brain, And leaves me with half-blurred, unseeing eyes? Surely no gracious God has so decreed. No God whose name is Love. Love could not work For the beloved such a dire fate — To meet the impotence of yielding flesh. To feel the flickering of waning sense. And yet, to know that years unending stretch In dim succession ere all life decay. I am no coward — ^I could bear even that. If, by my living, I could ease one pain Of one I love, or shield a single heart To whom I owe a crumb of fealty. But in the watches of the long black night 44 I take account of each and every one, And can but see them better for the deed Which I do purpose ere another dawn. They who are young can have no need of me. For what has youth to do with such as I? Youth with its splendid, gay inconsequence — Its laughter in the very eyes of fate, Its daring in the face of destiny — Youth reaches for the glove that Life throws down And, smiling, flings it back with unconcern. I know, for I, too, picked the gauntlet up. Although my youth was riddled through with age— The premature, sad age that comes with care, And cruel disillusion with a world That turns a cheap, inglorious, shallow cheek To many a valiant and resentful heart. Why should we dread this door that we call Death — 'Tis but the other end of Life, we know — Birth at one end, we may not understand. Death at the other end, unfathomed too— Why should we fear to meet it, when our day Of use in this strange world is past and gone? 45 I read of one who in the Antarctic cold Wandered apart to die, because he felt Himself a hindrance rather than a help, With weight of sickness and of suffering — And all the world cried, "Gallant, selfless one!" And yet, because I lie within four walls I may be deemed a coward, though my heart Has struggled long, to choose the nobler way — I, too, am selfless, nor will courage fail — Full armored then, I greet my comrade, Death ! 46 LIFE, A QUESTION? TIFE? and worth living? ■*— ' Yes, with each part of us — Hurt of us, help of us, hope of us, heart of us. Life is worth living. Ah ! with the whole of us. Will of us, brain of us, senses and soul of us. Is life worth living? Aye, with the best of us. Heights of us, depths of us, — life is the test of us ! 47 SOLUTION T ASKED you if you loved me as of old, ^ And in your eyes I read a questioning, As though you feared your ardor had grown cold, And Love no more were such a wondrous thing; But even as I searched that look, my own Reached to the vision you have never known. And so, through all your doubt, my seeing soul Smiled, for it knew you could not fathom love, For none have scaled the heights nor dreamed the whole. Till Death's blank silence comes the test to prove — Had I not met its echoless despair. How could I know that your deep love was there? But I have walked with that grim comrade, Pain, And yearned with baffled longing for a word That lips, once joyous, may not speak again 48 To happy ears that knew not what they heard — I, who have anguished through the endless night, Can measure all your love for me aright ! And so I know if I should pass away, The question in your eyes would pass with me; If I should die before another day, Your heart would bleed for mine as poignantly As though we had been severed in the Spring Of our great passion's pregnant blossoming. Death shall interpret what Life may not see, And eyes that bless our own with love and laughter Are only fully prized when mystery Curtains the present from the dim hereafter. What fruitless, fond assurance you would give, If I were dead, and words could make me live! 49 A KENTUCKY GRAVE nPHERE lies a lonely grave beneath tall trees ^ In that fair State where birds afire flash Above the azure-purpled waves of grass. Upon the nameless stone is but a date, Mid-June, when all Kentucky's loveliness Was at its full, and on a year before The cruel war had ravaged the sweet South. But though no word is on the barren stone. The legend runs that one both fair and young — Ah ! passing fair and brimmed with eager youth — Lies cold and still and nameless 'neath the sod. For in that year the old-time hostelry. That still stands by the mound where she is laid. Was gay with dance, and song, and revelry, And all the Blue Grass State had gathered there As they were wont to do in other days. On that warm mid-June night, all suddenly, She stood within the hall, while her dark maid With coal-black hands unloosed the fleecy cloak, And every eye was drawn unto the gleam 50 Of jewels at her waist and round her throat That seemed a Hly, dew-dropped in the dawn. Her strange dark eyes were flashing jewels, too, Set in the pallor of her dreamy face That turned to one as though his life was hers. Now, as the rhythmic music of the dance Fell on her ears, her eyes sought his and sank Into their depths as one who drowning steeps His failing memory in things best loved — Then slowly to the soft and sensuous sound Of flute and viol and of violin. They floated in a circled harmony; And in her eyes one saw the love that leaned And lavished everything, and on her lips An evanescent smile that came and went. She seemed a pure white flame of loveliness ! The music ceased, and as the last sweet note Wafted away to star-lit depths of June, She sank, and swooned in sinking, to the floor And died, without a murmur, in his arms. They laid her on a snow-white couch, and left Her weeping woman crouching at her feet. And her dark lover kneeling with her hand — Listless as lily when the dew is gone — 51 Clasped in his own to watch the weary night. But when the dawn broke, lo ! they found her there In utter loneUness, for both had fled ! So runs the story — none have ever heard More than these hues have told, and thus the stone Bears nothing on it but the lonely date, And all who come must listen to the tale. One, learning of the legend, lays a rose Upon the mound and leaves the gift of tears To keep its petals fresh, because of grief That one so young should perish ere the bud Had fully flowered in its blossoming. Ah, happy heart that weeps at such a fate! But still another comes, with laggard step And eyes opaque from disillusion's blow, Whose lips once long ago knew laughter well. Now parched with pallid parody of mirth And curved with scorn that any pity one Who never can know aught but Youth and Faith — Ah, bitter heart that smiles at such a fate! And we who ponder on the twice-told tale. Shall we then laugh, or weep, or turn aside, 52 Perchance, and envy her? Had she not lived — She who had loved, and danced, and dreamed, and died. Like some resplendent butterfly that wings To immortality in one brief hour! 53 LOVE IS A TALENT JOVE is a talent, like the gift of song ^— ' That thrills its cadenced passion on the ear. So Love, with harmony as rich and clear Strikes on the chord of Life, a vibrant, strong. Full note, that turns to right the cruel wrong. That lifts the lonely, stills the starting tear. Heals the bruised heart and casteth out all fear With peace that only can to Love belong. But if the singer sing not, then the high, Sweet resonance shall harsh and tuneless fall — Thus Love, if only garnered and not given. Of its own atrophy must droop and die — The dowered of Love must lean and lavish all Their boon on Earth, their Sesame to Heaven ! 54 IF I WERE NOT SO YOUNG TF I were not so young, the vistaed years Had not for me such pale, perspective dread. For I could turn, beneath this veil of tears, To swift reunion with my longed-for Dead — But Youth is mine, and all its baffled fires Burn fiercely on within my ravaged breast. And all its ardent, innocent desires Defiant still their heritage attest. My blurred, blank gaze that once was wont to shine With prescient glow in what fair Time should bring, Now scans Life's far and faint horizon line Knowing that Death alone shall hold no sting — My dumb despair, when it can find a tongue, May only falter, "Were I not so young!" 55 LOVE'S ARREARS T WAS in love with life and then I died — Because I lost the thing that I loved best. In my embittered soul with arid zest Sad disillusion, with fierce hate allied, Battled with murdered love and wounded pride; And harsh resentment, harbored in my breast. Festered the wound in my dead soul, till Rest Even the Rest of Death could not abide. My holier self in grief unholy lost Struggled to win my soul from sullen shame And lift my eyes through sacrificial tears. But though I proudly paid the crucial cost I wept for Love's dear sake and Love's fair fame And died again before lost Love's arrears. 56 WHICH? Wl^ ask that Love shall rise to the divine, ' ' And yet we crave him very human, too; Our hearts would drain the crimson of his wine, Our souls despise him if he prove untrue! Poor Love ! I hardly see what you can do ! We know all human things are weak and frail, And yet we claim that very part of you, Then, inconsistent, blame you if you fail. When you would soar, 'tis we who clip your wings. Although we weep because you faint and fall. Alas ! it seems we want so many things. That no dear love could ever grant them all ! Which shall we choose, the human, or divine. The crystal stream, or yet the crimson wine? 57 IN PRISON OHE is a murderess? Nay, it is not true — ^ Such eyes, such gentle eyes, such loving eyes. And then her smile — it is so gentle, too. You held her poor hard hands, and spoke to her In tender tones, as mother to a child, And she, with quick-caught breath, cried: "Anna's good; So good, dear lady, always as you wish." And with those same adoring, pleading eyes She seemed to drink your kind, protecting smile. We gave her flowers, gay with Autumn sun. That we had plucked in freedom, and the thought Stabbed in my heart. She murmured little words, In that soft tongue that poets love so well. And pressed the blossoms to her patient breast. So then we left her by her grated cell, Hearing the prison door with dubious clang Swing back behind us. Oh! the sunset light Never had colors that were so divine, 58 Never was riotous wind so fresh and free. And the pale moon was shining dimly, too. As though fair nature held high carnival Of all her beauty; lavish in her gifts That we might know the contrast of our joy To that poor inarticulate sister's fate. A murderess? Then you told me — and the tale Sent the hot blood in torrents to my head Until my eyes were blinded with her pain. They had been boy and girl in Italy, Had danced and sung together by the shore. And she was always his, had never known Father or mother, and the priest had smiled Because their pennies were too few to give That he should bind them with a marriage vow! But she was her Luigi's, he was hers — And when his gay, adventurous spirit willed, She followed him to this far land of ours — "We think we find much gold, and make our home," She said, and then a glory swept her face. She told of how he worked, and every day She brought with her own hands — ah! patient toil— The stones with which to build the little house. And so it grew with all the long, hard days 59 Till one Spring morning, lo ! the home was done. She was so tired that her eyes were dim. Her once straight body twisted out of shape With heavy loads, but all her heart was glad — Now it was done and she could rest awhile. And then he came. Looking her in the eyes, Laughing, he said: "This home is not for you — You are grown old and ugly — Anna, go — A fair young girl will share this home with me." Dumb, like a stricken dog, she turned and went — He was Luigi, and she must obey ! She hardly knew what happened after that, She had not died, it is so hard to die — Yes, she had worked and earned her daily bread — And days went by — days pass when souls are dead — Just as they pass when hearts are full of song — And so a laggard year dragged to its close. The Spring had come again — the gracious Spring ! When all the earth is redolent with joy — And happiness the birthright of each heart. Ah ! but the Spring has bitter pain for one Who dreads its coming, fears the long sweet days Fashioned for bursting blossoms and for love. All suddenly she came to life again — 60 She, who had died that day the year before. Her home, the Httle home her hands had made, Surely it could not hurt Luigi if She looked once more at what her toil had wrought ! Her hurrying feet could hardly carry her, So eager was she. In her weary brain There was no thought of evil, only thirst. For that sweet past consumed her like a flame. — There was the porch, and on it was a girl. Young as she once had been, with curling hair Falling on cheek and breast, and in her arms A dark-eyed baby clinging to that breast; She leaned across the railing and she laughed — Luigi, too, had laughed a year ago ! — And laughing, called in shrill and taunting tones: "You are the woman that Luigi kept Until you grew too old — you had no child To bind his love. Look what I've given him." She laughed again; mocking, she held the babe As though to give it into Anna's arms — Those arms that knew Luigi's, and had clung In love's first ecstasy around his neck In primitive passion. Now that love, betrayed, Called on the savage that is in us all, 61 Caught at her broken heart, her blazing brain — A flash of steel, and the dread deed was done — What wonder? Ah, the pity of it all ! Twelve years of prison, did you say, twelve years Have passed already in that little cell? A life-long sentence, but commuted now, Because of good behavior? Ah! those eyes — Such tender, quiet, sad, beseeching eyes — Eyes of a murderess! And the man is free! GOD'S FAIR WORLD TN some old book I read a legend quaint * Of one who wandered from the haunts of men, One who had sinned and suffered, turned a saint — He never looked upon their like again. His eyes drawn inward, shriving his sad soul By counting over the monotonous bead. He put away the joy of nature's whole — Musing upon his own poor, trivial deed. Nor would he look upon the glad sun rise Shedding a hope reborn adown the day, He dared not glory in the sunset skies But ever turned his eyes within, to pray. Year after year behind his narrow wall In garb of monk with crucifix on breast, His head averted from the sight of all. He built his pathway to eternal rest. And when his time was come, with faith assured He met his hour with longing satisfied. Content that God should know what he endured; Alone as he had lived, alone he died. Swift to the gate of Heaven, the legend ran. His soul was wafted. Peter, at the gate. Spake but this word, "Loved you your fellow man?" And led him to the throne where suppliants wait. And there, so runs the tale, the God of Love In majesty upon his throne empearled Leaned to the saint and said, from heights above: "What did you think, O man, of my fair world.''" Kneeling, the saint turned sinner, humbly prayed: " O Lord, my selfish eyes were blind with pain; I knew not your fair world; I was afraid — Grant me to serve my fellow man again!" 64 GETHSEMANE ALONE we kneel in our Gethsemane ^^ And blame our brother that he watcheth not ! We crave not him but drain his sympathy, All but our own fierce grief have we forgot. We cry, "Canst thou not watch with us one hour?" And, yet, aloof, we bow, a thing apart. Grief-scarred, we have nor wish, nor will, nor power To clasp our brother to our bleeding heart. He who was closest may not reach the soul, Shrouded and veiled, by anguish felled and slain; How can he watch, unfainting, when the whole That once was his responds to naught but pain? We blame our brother, yet it is not he. But our dead heart that makes Gethsemane ! 65 SPRING AND GRIEF T SEE my love in every little child * Whose eyes meet mine with laughter in their blue; I hear him in the note, half sweet, half wild. When bird calls bird their promise to renew; I feel him in the ardor of the sun That woos the fragrance from the waking flower, And maple buds, rose flushed by beauty, won To swift fulfilment of the Sun God's power. The world is young once more as he was young. With life and love reborn in everything — singing hearts ! My own is faint and wrung; The rapture and the riot of the Spring Can but enhance the throb of my despair — 1 miss him most when joy is everywhere ! 66 AUTUMN AND GRIEF T^HE short dark day, the chill of sombre skies, '^ Are far less poignant to my brooding heart Than Spring with all her pregnant mysteries, And promises in which he has no part. Autumn is kind to one whose soul must weep, While radiant Spring with callous cruelty Awakens every longing that would sleep. To stir once more the joy that was to be. Autumn ! You are the healer, for in truth You seem to say, all things must change and die. Spring slays me with the memory of his youth, Cheats me with happiness that passed me by — But Autumn murmurs, with pale lips and cold, "Death alone spares us, for we soon grow old!" 67 MOTHERHOOD T SOMETIMES think because at first I shrank, *■ And in my girlish heart rebelled, that I Should face again the long and weary months, 'Twas just for that as well as other things That when he came I could not love enough. But long before the day my doubt had passed. The child had leaped within me and I knew The sweet and holy joy of sacred things. And so my hour came, and, fierce and long, I battled for his life in agony, A wheel of fire in my shattered back And all my being crucified with pain. Then suddenly, as though by earthquake rent. The world went black with torture, and I knew That my cry mingled with another's cry So faint I hardly heard, and yet I thrilled To know the anguish gone, because once more A man child had been born to this strange earth. 68 There, as I lay, exhausted, I rejoiced That I had known the whole, each primal pang That any squaw might feel beneath the bush — That I had proved myself what women were Who brought the pioneers into the world. The virile men who conquered wood and plain, For I had never murmured till the last Great wrench of nature brought my body's fruit. Perchance because of all this poignancy, I loved him with a love so deep and strong As though 'twere born of elemental things; But then, I lay within the darkened room Content to float upon a seeming mist, So very quiet, almost in a dream — The calm and placid days slipped softly by, Those days of sweet seclusion, when the world Seemed very far away, when even love, Except the love I bore my little one. Was quite a thing apart, though hovering near And guarding me from care, a loyal shield That locked my chamber door to all but peace, So still I lay, till he would come to me; Then I would hold him closely to my breast Against the sheltered haven of my heart. And feel that God was in His Heaven high. 69 Sometimes I took him in my happy arms And scanned the little face and touched the hair. The fair soft hair, and looked into the eyes That were my father's in their shining blue — One of my father's race, ah ! it was so — For as he grew to childhood I could see The very traits I loved, the joy of life, The gay, bright heart, the sweet simplicity. The love and courage and the fierce contempt For one who could be cruel to the weak — And even as he grew my passion grew, For we were one in heart and very soul — His spirit lifted me, and all my sky Was filled with light if he were only near. Life seemed so sweet for him, and so for me With every perfect thing that it could bring. But suddenly, a bolt from out the blue Fell, and my heart was dead, for he was dead ! The pangs I suffered when I gave him birth Were only in my weak and pliant flesh, But when he died it was my heart was torn, My passionate heart that seemed a living thing. That loved with love that was affinity — The one affinity that cannot fail. 70 Just as the world went black when he was born, So blacker far it went when he was dead, For my strong heart was shattered by the blow. Thus, though I know that I have many joys. And though I greet the beauty of the Spring, And welcome Summer with its golden days. The glory is departed from the earth Because he is not part of this same Spring, Because the Summer and its golden days Can never more be seen through his dear eyes. And though the Autumn with its rich red glow Awakens a response within my breast, I cannot laugh as once I laughed with him. When riding neck and neck across the hills Into the glory of the dying day ! Ah ! no, the chill of Winter holds me fast, For he was the fair flower of my youth. But even with the anguish that is mine, I could not wish that it should ever pass, For it is but the other side of joy, And I must meet it as I met the pangs Of that fierce birth that brought me my delight — The essence of the part that is divine. The perfect joy of perfect motherhood. 71 AFTER I HAVE lived and rejoiced in the living, I have loved and accepted the pain, I have given for joy of the giving And counted the gift as a gain — Like music that melts into laughter, And laughter that trembles to tears, I have waked every chord — but hereafter How mute are the years ! They are dim with the fear of forgetting. And numb with a joy that is cold. They are wan from a sun that is setting, And blank as a tale that is told. No thrill in the rush of the river. No throb in the hush of the seas. In the wound of Grief's guarding, no quiver. For drained are Life's lees! 72 FEAR FDEAST in the jungle, ready, crouched to spring; -*— ' The spawn of sorrow, and the price of pain; Lurking in shadow, dark and evil thing. Waiting to claim my craven heart again. Grief slew my joy, and bore it far away. And left me in its place this barren blight That turns the gold of morning to the gray And haunting terror of the murky night; Fear that the ones I love shall anguish too, Fear for the heart red-hot, the heart turned cold. Fear of the grief, the blinding grief I knew. Fear of the shortening day, the years grown old. God of my Fathers, from thy throne above. Lean in thy tenderness, and draw me near, — Teach me, O gracious Lord, the perfect love, — The perfect love that casteth out all fear! 73