PS 3523 .127 ?3 Book ' -^ ^ / / PAVED STREETS / PAVED STREETS By ELIAS LIEBERMAN / THE CORNHILL COMPANY BOSTON Copyright, 1917 The CoRNHHiL Company ^ rS/.;W;;,-f^^ , ^•'CF *^V 9W8 DEC 3i 1317 ©Ci.;.501902 p^ V- TO MY WIFE Jl HE author acknowledges with thanks the courtesy of the editors of Everybody's, The Outlook, Munsey's, Puck, Judge, Harper's Weekly, The Designer, The American Hebrew, Snappy Stories, Breezy Stories, Town Topics, The Boston Transcript, The New York Times and The Sun, in granting permission to reprint the verses contained in this book. CREDO I believe That there are greater things in life Than life itself; I believe In climbing upward Even when the spent and broken thing I call my body Cries "Halt!" I believe To the last breath In the truths Which God permits me to see. I believe In fighting for them; In drawing. If need be, Not the bloody sword of man Brutal with conquest And drunk with power. But the white sword of God, Flaming with His truth And healing while it slays. I believe In my country and her destiny, In the great dream of her founders. In her place among the nations, In her ideals; X CREDO I believe That her democracy must be protected, Her privileges cherished, Her freedom defended. I believe That, humbly before the Almighty, But proudly before all mankind, We must safeguard her standard, The vision of her Washington, The martyrdom of her Lincoln, With the patriotic ardor Of the minute men And the boys in blue Of her glorious past. I believe In loyalty to my country Utter, irrevocable, inviolate. Thou, in whose sight A thousand years are but as yesterday And as a watch in the night. Help me In my frailty To make real What I believe. TABLE OF CONTENTS Page I am an American 1 Brothers 3 The Quest of Pierrot 4 Soldini, Vaudeville Violinist 6 My Shoemaker 7 The Retort Impossible 10 What the City Said 11 The Play Last Night 12 The Racing Car 13 My Alarm Clock 14 Rubaiyat of a Flat Dweller 15 From a Battery Park Bench 16 Romance in the City 17 June: It All Depends 17 A Peddler in the Shopping District 18 Pastel 18 The Pipes 19 The Modern Omar 20 The Fhght of a Sunbeam 21 The Vendor of Dreams 22 From a Bridge Car 24 The Tower 24 The Cathedral 24 Dawn in the City 25 The Theatre Crowd 25 A Street Crossing 25 Winter Nocturne: Subway Exit 26 Fonetic 26 At the Opera 27 A Man of Letters 28 The Nation to its Foreign-Bom 29 xii TABLE OF CONTENTS Page The Buzzing Fly 31 On a Fifth Avenue Bus 32 Invitation to the Dance 33 A Lesson in Verse 35 The King of Love 37 Song of the Motor Car 40 The Problem Play 41 Don't Kiss Me 42 Song of a Subway Car 44 Coney Island on Sunday — An Impression 46 The Children's Army 47 Song of the Stadium 48 Spring at the Fish Market 50 Sholom Aleichem 52 O. Henry: In Memoriam 53 To Robert Louis Stevenson 56 Edgar AUan Poe 57 Josef Israels: In Memoriam 59 The " Spring Poem " Satirist 61 May Rhapsody 63 Rosemary and Rue 64 The Homecoming 66 Rain Song 67 To a Poet on His Travels 68 The Son of an Ancient Race 71 How Long, O Lord 73 The Other Cheek 75 The Banner of God 77 Israel's Burden 79 On the Occasion of Mr. Schiff's Birthday, Jan. 10th, 1917 81 The Kingdom of Poland 82 Song of the Volga Boatmen 87 Chant of Loyalty 88 Let there be Light 89 Song of the U-Boat 91 To the Statue of Liberty 92 TABLE OF CONTENTS xiii Page The Cry of Humanity 93 Men 95 To War Bards 97 Sea Waifs 98 Where Do We Stand 99 Demos: A Rhapsody 100 The Light on the Mountain 104 Caliban to the War-God 106 Nocturne 107 SOULS AND STREETS I AM AN AMERICAN I am an American, My father belongs to the Sons of the Revolution ; My mother, to the Colonial Dames. One of my ancestors pitched tea overboard in Boston Harbor; Another stood his ground with Warren; Another hungered with Washington at Valley Forge. My forefathers were America in the making: They spoke in her council halls; They died on her battle-fields; They commanded her ships ; They cleared her forests. Dawns reddened and paled. Stanch hearts of mine beat fast at each new star In the nation's flag. Keen eyes of mine foresaw her greater glory : The sweep of her seas, The plenty of her plains, The man-hives in her billion-wired cities. Every drop of blood in me holds a heritage of patriotism. I am proud of my past. I am an American. 2 PAVED STREETS I am an American. My father was an atom of dust, My mother a straw in the wind, To His Serene Majesty. One of my ancestors died in the mines of Siberia; Another was crippled for life by twenty blows of the knut; Another was killed defending his home during the massacres. The history of my ancestors is a trail of blood To the palace-gate of the Great White Czar. But then the dream came — The dream of America. In the light of the Liberty torch The atom of dust became a man And the straw in the wind became a woman For the first time. " See," said my father, pointing to the flag that fluttered near, " That flag of stars and stripes is yours; It is the emblem of the promised land. It means, my son, the hope of humanity. Live for it — die for it! " Under the open sky of my new country I swore to do so; And every drop of blood in me will keep that vow. I am proud of my future. I am an American. SOULS AND STREETS BROTHERS Noon in the park ... A tropic sun Dazzles with light and chokes with heat. Sleepers about you . . . Notice one Stretching his length on a wooden seat. His face is blotched and puffy and seared, Sweat drips from the clammy skin; Flies romp on a stubble of beard, — A bundle of dirt with a soul therein. Noon at the club ... A welcome shade Dulls the light and cools the heat. Gentleman seated . . . Lemonade Dashed with cognac and something sweet. Arms dangling limply down. Feet tapping the polished floor . . . Yawning and stretching . . . No one in town Not a soul . . . What a beastly bore ! PAVED STREETS THE QUEST OF PIERROT Wistful and pleading, white of face, He watches the crowd — like a dream — pass by; And now he pirouettes back a pace. And now he stifles the ghost of a sigh. But though, in the glare of the bluish light. Myriads drift to an oubliette Of vistas narrowing left and right, He looks in vain for Pierrette. Tender and yearning and half afraid. Like a frightened fawn in a sudden shower Whom lightning dazes. He treads the mazes Of city streets. Pauses — retreats — Gazes amused at the burghers staid — Stops to admire the beauty or dower Fate has granted some winsome maid — But ever he shakes his head, ah no ! There is only one for Pierrot. And her — Pierrette — In a lifetime span Though the world forget. He never can. SOULS AND STREETS 5 Finger on lip and saucer eyes, He seeks in vain where violins, Like prophets false of paradise. Glorify man in his frailties and sins; Midas is there with his touch of gold And maidens, too, with smiles firm-set That flash no mirth but leave one cold — Alas ! He finds no Pierrette. Drooping, he stumbles to Thespis' mart Where genius jingles the lilt of the times; Or the times, perhaps, too crass for art. Demand nepenthe from mummers and mimes; He bows his head and weeps! What though The swaying chorus dazzles — yet No charm is there for Pierrot — He can not find his Pierrette. Night — the stars — a city park — The shelter of boughs and a friendly seat — He thinks of her in the murmuring dark. Forgets his aches and his weary feet. The world will move in its trivial way. Will turn to dross its fume and fret And lose its soul — but ah ! one may In dreams be ever with Pierrette. PAVED STREETS SOLDINI, VAUDEVILLE VIOLINIST Dead men may tell no tales, but dead souls can; For when my turn is done, mine never fails To torture me with this: " Are you the man Whom Auer taught? Soldini! Ragging scales! Are you the boy whom Auer once caressed — His eyes so teary-soft — to whom he said, "Have patience, lad; through toil is genius blessed ; Your day will come?" But night has come instead. Night after night they clap Soldini — me Who sold his hopes for dross, his dream for pelf. They clap Soldini? No! His travesty, His ghost, perhaps, great God, but not himself. For gaping dolts I crucify my love. I syncopate the masters, beat the strings. Abuse my bow to please the gods above. The smoking gods, whose rapture stings Remorse to life again and drives my pride To penance — fool applause that lays a ban On hope and calls up all of me that died. Dead men may tell no tales but I — I can. SOULS AND STREETS 7 MY SHOEMAKER Tap, tap, hammer; tap in cobbler time; Tap, tap, hammer; tap away the grime. Water-pail and boot-tree, shop of murk and must. Awl and thread and polish; tap away the dust; Tap away his tool and bench, the scattered leather scraps. My shoemaker is dreaming as he taps, taps, taps. He dreams. . . . It seems While his hand keeps time to the beat, beat, beat His fancy wanders free; It scuds to the breath of his spirit-heat Like the spume of a wind-tossed sea. Now gladly. Now madly, Now hauntingly. Sadly Over and over the infinite keys Of a wonderful organ he conjures from air. He fashions the rapturous melodies That, wafting above, On wings of fire, An angel choir. Now carol his gladness and now his despair; But most of all his heart's desire, His plea for love, His dream of love. . . . 8 PAVED STREET;S Did not Vulcan, dull at his forge, Pause in his toil — listen — grow mute, A throb in his heart and a lump in his gorge, As he heard the music of Orpheus' lute? In the little back room (the only one Besides his shop) no worries lurk To drag his soul from its chosen fun And hem it in with his daily work; Spring dwells eternal for here is set The solace for toil through the countless days. An ancient piano, a modern spinet; And on this my shoemaker plays — and plays. He caresses her keys with toil-gnarled hands ;''^>: He woos her and wrings from her tinkling heart Murmurs of sympathy — she understands What love may yearn for and love impart. Men seek the gleam as the years plod by. Dawns flush and wane and centuries lapse; In search of the Holy Grail they hie Like my valorous Knight of the Leather Scraps; And who shall say that the sacred gleam, The quest for which makes man sublime. May never appear in a cobbler's dream, Redeeming his soul from the dust and grime? SOULS AND STREETS 9 Smug with the fat of the world our souls Are lulled to sleep and often fail, As they blink their eyes at the money goals, To see beyond them the shining Grail; The gleam grows dim as the spirit lags And the solace of dreams may never be had By him who snores on his money bags. Though it come to the toiler with hammer and brad. Tap, tap, hammer; tap in cobbler time; Tap, tap, hammer; tap away the grime, Water-pail and boot-tree, shop of murk and must, Awl and thread and polish; tap away the dust; Tap away his stool and bench, the scattered leather scraps, My shoemaker is dreaming as he taps, taps, taps. 10 PAVED STREETS THE RETORT IMPOSSIBLE The pronoun twins of repartee In Jokeland known as He and She Addressed each other angrily. Said He: " I often long for wings; I'm tired to death of saying things That merely draw your witty flings." Said She: " You need not say a word; A clothing dummy is not heard; Just be yourself to look absurd." Though through his heart her answer tore, This, too, like other shafts, he bore; The Jokesmith had not written more. SOULS AND STREETS 11 WHAT THE CITY SAID Be not afraid, for if you are, — you die! Of coward lives I daily take my toll; And only he who bravely scorns to fly Perceives the god-like will of me, the soul. The craven whimpers, " Lo! Four million men And each one turns to me a face of stone." If he but knew, he might take heart again, For even they feel pity-starved, alone. Be not afraid; for if you are, — you die! The giants, ribbed of steel, that stretch their hands To grasp the stars, disdain an earth-born sigh ; Each mammoth pile the tomb of weaklings stands ! But if, you trembling manikin, you're bold, Then — open sesame — there gleams revealed The wealth of Ali Baba's treasure hold, A robber store of gems and gold concealed ! Be not afraid ; for if you are, — you die ! They call me Bagdad! Mark! The Calif's knife Will stroke your neck before you dare to cry To Allah that he spare your worthless life. Ah! Hear the Calif's rage, his angry stamp; He lowers dark at you; he means to kill. You laugh at him.^ He brings Aladdin's lamp. Salaam to you! What is my master's will? n PAVED STREETS THE PLAY LAST NIGHT The play last night! It might have been Of my own life the counterpart; My eyes went dim with tears unseen ; I heard a dirge within my heart. Like me, the lass upon the stage, Bereft of all that brightens life, Her faith and love, was left to wage Against the world a losing strife. Like me, she felt the gossip's tongue; She bowed to babbling calumny ; She argued with him, pleaded, clung; He left her, too, as one left me. But just before the curtain fell I saw her shattered fortunes mend ; He came to her — and all was well ; Alas ! Not mine the happy end ! SOULS AND STREETS 13 THE RACING CAR Meteors whiz through the waste of space, Planets course through the open sky; All the world at a blinding pace Madly whirls in a cosmic race. And so do I. I bend to a rocking, swaying thing That hurtles on in a wake of fire; It croons to Death as I clutch and cling. But it sings the song of my heart's desire. The breath of life Is speed and strife; A hero's meed Is strife and speed; Though pulses hammer and senses reel. Ecstasy dwells in my throbbing steel. Men must venture and men must die; We are creatures of destiny, you and I. Masses of faces cover the bank; Murmurs of voices blend from afar; Master of lever, throttle and crank, I grind ahead in my lurching car. I speed ahead like a spirit free, I leap for my goal like a god of the sun ; The universe totters in frenzied glee Along with me — for the race is won ! 14 PAVED STREETS MY ALARM CLOCK I doze. ... I drowse. ... It sings to me: " The dawn has flushed in the eastern sky! " I toss. . . . I bhnk. . . , It murmurs: "See! There is much to be done ere the sun rides high. There is much to be done! My knight, arise! Adventure beckons for bold emprise; And Love hires on with dream-lit eyes. Burr . . . ing! Ting-a-ling-ling! Arms and the man I sing." It whispers low, " A maid, perchance. May need a valorous knight. Advance! Charge the dragon ! Shiver the lance! Draw your sword ! The beast may hold Besides the maid a store of gold. The world is full of gems and of hearts And he w^ho first on the quest departs May have them all. Ting-a-ling-ling ! Arms and the man I sing! " Thus might it speak ! What it really does With spiteful rattle and maddening buzz Is this: " Again asleep, you shirk! Get up, get up, and go to work ! " SOULS AND STREETS 15 RUBAIYAT OF A FLAT DWELLER Poor dub, awake! The neighbors' hoarse alarm Has robbed your morning doze of all its charm. For lo ! He sets the thing at half-past five, A frightful hour, to keep his job from harm. And though, perchance, you need not rise till eight, What boots the will of man against his fate? The waiter, misnamed dumb, will serve to shake With creak and buzz the sleep from any pate. Each morn a thousand noises seems to bring; And though you writhe in bed and madly cling To pillow, blanket, sheet, — no hope! Your goat is got; you can not do a thing. Alas, the milk is gone! No tracer shows Who take the stuff from you or whence it goes; But he who lives below and takes your tips. He knows about it all, he knows, he knows. Yes, that perverted tank you call the Jan- itor, who works the game to suit his plan, — Look not to him for help, for he, mayhap. Has seething milk of yours within his can. A janitor who scorns the vinous bough, A clock next door that cannot raise a row, A flat without a phonograph next door, — Ah, any rooms were Paradise enow! 16 PAVED STREETS FROM A BATTERY PARK BENCH Giant-keeled, she flings the spray Lightly by in queenly scorn, As she passes from the bay Toward the mighty ocean borne. On to foreign lands and seas. Go, thou thing of steel and steam ! Here upon my bench at ease I shall follow in a dream. Then I shut my eyes and view Many queer, attractive sights — Waters colored turquoise blue, Phosphor seas on tropic nights, Dusky men in sandaled feet. Pattering their way along Through a narrow Eastern street Teeming with a noisy throng — Cities, castles, colonnades, Winding rivers, foreign sods. Vast cathedrals, strange arcades. Moldy shrines of ancient gods, Storied nooks of all the earth, See I as I take my trip — Passage gratis, cabin berth — On the park bench, phantom ship. SOULS AND STREETS 17 ROMANCE IN THE CITY Before the dawn has paled the night's blue blur, Romance takes wand in hand and starts her quest Like Ariel at Prospero's behest To seek for hearts where men and women stir. And no man knows the subtle trick thereof, But when she halts a lad upon the street And smiles at him, his heart begins to beat A million songs whose mad refrain is love. JUNE: IT ALL DEPENDS (A reversible rime) glee woe Thy ^ ' . , > winds are wild with { •^ [ humid j ( ™, ( brilliant ) , . f gay ) .., j mirth Tl'y t swollen 1;'"'^ ^'^ \ dull \ "'"^ i dread stay with me O June, forever ^ „ ( irom me go ,,, 1 J. i sing thy birth 1 11 tune my lyre to < .1,1. , 1 ( wish thee dead 18 PAVED STREETS A PEDDLER IN THE SHOPPING DISTRICT For hours you stand and watch the crowd, pell- mell Go bustling by. No call for buttons, laces! Why don't you scan those rigid, weary faces? They long for peace, but that you cannot sell ! PASTEL Autumn leaves in russet and brown. Autumn leaves in red and gold; The wind is shaking them trembling down Dank with fog and chilled with cold. Little mounds on the wind-swept heath, Little mounds of russet and red ; The ghost of a sigh and a hero's wreath For the Belgian lads whom the wind mourns dead. SOULS AND STREETS 19 THE PIPES (As Poe might have jingled it) Hear the knocking on the pipes ! Frigid pipes! With what agonies of terror Now their metal presence gripes ! Hear the tenants beating, beating. Begging for a little heating From the pipes; Hear them beating and entreating For a scanty dole of heating Bought and paid for, Stopped and stayed for; But the ghoul who lives below And who battens on the tips Listens calmly to the cadence As it rises and it dips. And he doesn't care a rapping For the anxious tenants' tapping On the pipes, pipes, pipes! How he laughs. How he chaffs. As he keeps time, time In a merry Runic rhyme To the tintinabulations that in vain insistence beat For our rightful share of heat; 20 PAVED STREETS To the discords as they scream For our frugal meed of steam From the pipes, pipes, pipes, pipes, Pipes, pipes, pipes — From the icy-hearted monster And his pipes ! THE MODERN OMAR L'Allegro: Midnight A milUon hghts flare up. . . . You seem di- vine. . . . Prismatic colors flood your fragile grace; Aurora crowns your hair and warms your face. Another glass ! The world and you are mine ! Il Penseroso: The Morning After Alas ! The Song of Songs was never meant For dolts like me with souls and feet of clay ; Next time it lures me on, I'll turn away. Some copper coins are left; the gold is spent. SOULS AND STREETS 21 THE FLIGHT OF A SUNBEAM I saw you throbbing, On mischief bent, As away you went, Brilliantly bobbing. Your dance beguiling A little child With antics wild, He gurgled, smiling. Flashing and flying On dress parade, You sought a maid And eased her sighing. Glancing and gleaming' Athwart a youth. He glimpsed a truth Which set him dreaming. Dazzling and whisking Before a mule. The solemn fool Kicked heels a frisking ! Gracefully veering, You charmed a sage To write a page Of humor cheering. 22 PAVED STREETS And gleefully springing Back to your skies, You gladdened my eyes And left me singing! THE VENDOR OF DREAMS " Tf there were dreams to sell! " — Beddoes Garbed in a motley suit. Waving a bladder of air, And crowned with a cap and bells, He looms in the thoroughfare; Enveloped in phosphor fire. Spectrally gaunt he seems As he offers his wares at the curb — A fantastical vendor of dreams. " Oyez! From the storehouse of time. Beautiful, crystalline dreams, Reveries, fancies, and hopes, Suffused with the roseate gleams That play on a poet at birth And wimple at dawn of the day ! Oyez ! Ye women and men, Ye mortals of earth, oyez! SOULS AND STREETS 23 " Here are the hopes that are dead. Alive in your vanished youth; The glorious rule of the right, The radiant triumph of truth ; Power to do and to dare Free to the weaklings of earth; Ambition attained at a bound — Dreams of a fabulous w orth ! " Health for the tottering frame, Blood for the cheek that is pale, Innocence, freshness of heart, The fountain of youth is for sale! Love for the maid who is spurned. Relief for a sob or a sigh ; I am a vendor of dreams — Buy! Buy! Buy!" 24 PAVED STREETS FROM A BRIDGE CAR River inscrutable, river mysterious, Mornings or evenings, in gray skies or blue, Thousands of toilers in gay mood or serious, Workward and homeward have gazed upon you. Swirling or sluggish, but ever inscrutable, Sparkling or oily, but never the same ; You, like the city, mysterious, mutable, Tremble with passions which no one can name. THE TOWER A magic symbol urging goals unwon, 'Round which the rushing shadow falls; There profit lures, dreams dance, ambition calls, — Bagdad, Golconda, Camelot in one. THE CATHEDRAL A vault of scattered stars is overhead ; And, reaching hands of stone for stellar fires, The wingless monuments of man's desires Seem darting up — but cling to earth instead. SOULS AND STREETS 25 DAWN IN THE CITY A morning zephyr lifts the screen of gray That hides the stage and, like a show- man shrewd, He sets the light so that the prologue, viewed In rose, contrasts the garish acts of day. THE THEATRE CROWD Oblivion or life? Both youth and age Pass brilliant-eyed within the playhouse door; And from it turn with echoed laughter; or In pensive mood, if life had crossed the stage. A STREET CROSSING Like hunted game, now darting here, now there, They cross in haste the traffic-glutted street; Amidst the maze of cars and cabs their feet Go pitter-patter, hasting ever — where? 26 PAVED STREETS WINTER NOCTURNE: SUBWAY EXIT From underground come creeping forth the gnomes Who toiled by day to spin the cloth of gold On many looms. Anon, a gust of cold Attacks the rout and sweeps them to their homes. FONETIC A wise philosopher obtained His doctorate degree. And being wise, he rendered it In language somewhat free: Instead of writing Ph. D — To all persuasion deaf, He used the phonic substitute, And signed himself D. F. SOULS AND STREETS 27 AT THE OPERA Are you the lass I used to know — My barefoot girl of aeons past; My nut-brown maid of long ago? Can this be you and I — miscast? In decollete, and grandly pale — It seems so queer ! But he that gave The gems you wear covdd hardly fail. A princess you, and I — a knave. The music thrills you. Violins With muted strings can plead so well ! You look at me — the charm begins To work — may God prolong the spell! Crescendo now my throbbing heart Would madly blot what happened since ! I seem to play my rightful part, A princess you, and I — a prince. The music dies ; the lights flare up ; A stranger helps you with your cloak; My lips have touched the bitter cup; I drain it, lees and all — I choke ! The strains had led my wits astray, They spun a dream for me, your slave; But fate ordains another way, — A princess you, and I — a knave. 28 PAVED STREETS A MAN OF LETTERS When Clegg was young, the first degree He learned to blab was A. B. C. In adolescence, formally, A college tagged on him A. B. Another parchment came his way That dubbed the stoHd grind M. A. But on he plugged; oh, on plugged he. Until he nabbed the Ph. D. In dreams he now began to see An honorary LL. D. But then, alas ! The end is sad, For poor old Clegg went raving mad. Upon the walls incessantly He scribbles Clegg and X. Y. Z. And P. D. Q. and Q. E. D. A literal calamity. The keepers say he aims to get A corner on the alphabet. SOULS AND STREETS 29 THE NATION TO ITS FOREIGN-BORN Make thee my knight f My knights are sworn to vows Of utter hardihood, utter gentleness And, loving, utter faithfulness in love. Tennyson. Front face! Are you prepared to do your part? Come here and tell me so; I know you can. Stand straight and answer squarely, heart to heart ; You're not a grain of dust to step on, man! Look up ! The truth ! I mean to try you out When passion's heat is white, to search you through And see if anywhere there lives a doubt To whom and where your loyalty is due. You're stanchly true? Then breathe a holy vow That, come what may, your soul will cling to me. I sheltered you, when first you came, and, now, I want your faith and deeds, if need there be. But if your thoughts go fondly back to where, A subject once, you ate your potted meat. Or where you scraped and bowed to kings, why there You must return. You cannot stand white heat. 30 PAVED STREETS There is no middle course for loyalty, And love should never waver. She who nursed Your brawn and brain and soul, who dubbed you free, Should stand alone in love, in duty first. All this you stand resolved to pledge anew? You call to witness Him that rules above? Then rise. Sir Knight, my future rests on you, On all your utter faith, your utter love! SOULS AND STREETS 31 THE BUZZING FLY Buzz, buzz, Low, high. How I hate you, Little fly! Buzz, buzz. No rest; How I loathe you, Little pest! Buzz, buzz, So plain, Ever at it On the pane. Swipe! I have you! No? Too bad! Missed again? I'm going mad! Buzz, buzz, No peace; Will that buzzing Never cease? Now I've caught you ! No ! Too spry ! Wait a bit. You nasty fly ! 32 PAVED STREETS Buzz, buzz, Fills my brain. Swat! What? Broken pane ! ON A FIFTH AVENUE BUS Close-boarded, bar-crossed windows — blind fa- cades ! I cannot look within, but envy sees A world that is not mine and cushioned ease I may not share . . . all, all behind those shades. Two maidens pure as dawn ascend the bus . . . And earth reels from me . . . Airily I soar . . . The one is laughing Youth forevermore; The other. Wonder, wide-eyed, tremulous. Wild magic haunts the breeze, the open sky! I, too, am rich; I smell the greening sod; I lilt a song of soul-content to God; And on we travel . . . Wonder, Youth and I. SOULS AND STREETS 33 INVITATION TO THE DANCE Time: An autumn day Scene: A wood Characters:|tf.'"f\™d (A little leaf THE WIND (boldly) : What maiden fancies make you blush This pretty red? THE LEAF (reprovingly) : You rudeness, hush ! THE WIND (boisterously) : With dainty sighs I will caress Your crimson cheeks. THE LEAF (timorously) : What brazenness ! THE WIND (sarcastically): You're too demure! Will you, perchance. Come off your perch and try — a dance? THE LEAF (shuddering) : A dance? Oh, no. Excuse me, please, I'm rather weak about the knees; I'm poor at tangoing, I fear. 34 PAVED STREETS THE WIND (suavely) : I'll teach you well, my trembling dear. THE LEAF (fluttering) : Oh, sir! Be kind enough to wait! THE WIND (blustering) : Regrets ! I never hesitate. Let's one-step then — come on — I'll blow Your scruples to the — THE LEAF (falling) : Wind, I go! SOULS AND STREETS 35 A LESSON IN VERSE The editors gave B. A. Hack Five cents a word. He smote His hand upon his noble knob And this is what he wrote : — " Fain would the horned moon eftsoons Dart out beyond the cloud. Fain would its pointed points retreat Astern the opal shroud, While qui V 'ring on the heaving sea The falling moonbeams fall, And shiv'ring on the rolling deep. Remember Neptune's call." But when the editors resolved To pay him for the thought. The manuscripts of B. A. Hack A different message brought : — " A horned moon, A hind'ring cloud, A mad retreat Astern the shroud; On heaving seas The moonbeams fall And shiv'ring list To Triton's call." PAVED STREETS A skillful master of his art, He later, with a frown, Tore up his first attempt and said He ought to " boil it down." For, after all, the whole blamed thing, He thought in cynic glee, Can best be said — ah, noble head! — " The moon shone on the sea." SOULS AND STREETS 37 THE KING OF LOVE Dedicated to Dr. Stanton Coit, founder of the Uni- versity Settlement, Rivington and Eldridge streets, the first settlement in America The street is all a- throb with sleepless life. There beats upon the ear a mad refrain Of peddlers hawking wares. The very lights Of Rivington are blatant as the cries That blend into the thunder of the cars. A haggling crone berates a bearded Job Who curses loud and often at his fate Before he takes the stinted dole she gives. As if to mock the pair, a joyous strain, The lilting Czardas, filters through the hum From out a hall where tw^o have plighted troth. Amid the rattle and the clamor of their lives A golden strand had slipped the loom of Fate. A boy is chanting ballads on the street And round about him gapes the idle throng Their mission stayed — to listen and to yearn For luring dreams of unattained desires, For life to fill the veins of still-born hopes. A Babel of confusions fills the air, The senses riot in a Bacchanal Of sights and sounds, — a Bagdad of the brain. 38 PAVED STREETS And through the grimy ruck there passes one Who sniffs his way along in open scorn. His hands are white although his heart is small; His cheeks are red although his soul is pale; And thus he drawls as on he minces by: " What sweating, grasping humans — these I see. What sordid trade, what guile, what warped ideals. What gulfs Ijetween these lowly forms and me, The scion of the culture of the world, The master of the learning of the schools ; 'Twixt them who grovel at the carts and me. The final product of the rolling centuries; How queer of garb and mien and speech they are, I'll stoop to them and lift them to myself." But on the thunder of the traffic booms along. The plodding peddlers shudder at his touch; The weary mothers crooning to their babes Are sightless to his offer and his hand; The children mock his very daintiness; And Rivington, uproarious and wild. In laughter, moaning, singing, sobs, — ignores The final product of the rolling centuries. " Ungrateful dolts," he scoffs, " their coarseness Cannot grasp the higher things in Life, Nor can it feel the nobler strain in me." And now there comes along the crowded street Another — humble, modest, gentle- voiced, And from his eyes there gleams the flame of love : " Oh, brothers, look above," he mildly says. SOULS AND STREETS 39 " The world is full of beauty, full of light, And life is filled with tender harmonies. The laughter born of fever, brethren, cease. And cease the silent crying of the heart. For yesterday is past; to-morrow lives for you! " And lo ! By him a miracle is wrought : The thunder of the traffic dies away, The plodding peddlers straighten at his touch; The weary mothers crooning to their babes. Extend them to the lull of his caress; And Rivington, uproarious and wild In laughter, moaning, singing, sobs — acclaims The humble worker, reigning king of Love. 40 PAVED STREETS SONG OF THE MOTOR CAR A long, lean stretch of a grayish road For a lurching thing of steel; A vanishing strip of dust to the goad Of each swift pneumatic wheel. It speeds from Eternity straight through Space To a throttle's tug and strain, And hurtling along at a maddening pace Repeats in a frenzied refrain : "Speed! Through a rushing wind in the dark of night, With the glare ahead of a giant light ; Though your throat is choked with the clots of dust. Till I seem to fly over earth's dun crust, I demand as my meed Irresistible speed! " A man bespattered with dirt and grime Bends over intent on his goal. He hearkens the beat of its thunderous time Controlling its impulse — its soul. His heart beats loud and his breath comes fast, In the throes of a joyous pain; The woods and the houses are scurrying past. As it grinds in a wild refrain : SOULS AND STREETS 41 " Speed ! While my limbs are tense with a pulsing might, Though my pace outstrip your human sight, For the joy there is in it — the ecstasy lent, Till my terrible force is completely spent, I demand as my meed Irresistible speed! " THE PROBLEM PLAY I heard the hero's labored talk. His fervent declamation; I saw him pace the stage, and walk Its length in perturbation. Would she leave him, or he leave her? Had he the right to marry? Would both of them to part demur? Was it not wrong to tarry? The critic with the sunken eye Explained the situation. His forehead bulged; a cultured sigh Showed cultured exaltation. A listless hearer at his side. Of intellect far baser, Exclaimed, " The problem's not denied. But where on earth's the play, sir? " 42 PAVED STREETS DON'T KISS ME John Thompson was a citizen Of credit and renown But when a grippe germ entered him It brought John Thompson down. With febrifuge and germicide And heahng herbs full score He fought the vicious little beast But still it vexed him sore. And as he lay upon his cot He heard his doctor tell " You may not kiss nor osculate Nor buss, till you are well." " Nay, can you, John," the doctor asked, " Though this must cause you pain. Can you forego the fond embrace Of Mistress Mary Jane? " John Thompson was a cautious man, He knew the ways of germs. How fast they multiply and breed. The cruel, septic worms! SOULS AND STREETS 43 Bold resolution fired his eyes, He spoke as doth a man : " When Duty whispers low, ' Thou must,' The youth replies, ' I can! ' " She came not in the rosy dawn. She did not come at noon ; His heart leaped up when in the eve, He heard her dainty shoon. Compassion filmed her azure orbs. Her heart beat fast for fear; But ere she swooped on him with love, He murmured in her ear: " Don't kiss me, darling Mary Jane, A foe is armed to kill us, The germ that bideth on my lips, The dreaded grippe bacillus. Don't kiss me, darling Mary Jane," With gestures epileptic, The swain implored his darling lass, " Until I'm antiseptic." And thus they bode till he was well, As prophylaxis fated; Unhugged, unbussed, unkissed, unstrung, Nonplussed, unosculated. 44 PAVED STREETS SONG OF A SUBWAY CAR " A subway car was grinding along From stop to stop with a toil-worn throng; It growled as it sped through the narrow lane A dolorous tale to a dull refrain, De-de-dun, de-de-dun; To an often-repeated dull refrain. De-de-dun, de-de-dun. . . . " I speed through a sinuous vault underground, Columned and pillared, rock-ribbed and round; And this is the song of my innermost ken, A song of women and sitting men, De-de-dun, de-de-dun. . . . " A woman hangs by a strap and reels, A feverish flush her pallor conceals; She is weary with working, faint — but then Nothing is seen by my sitting men. My newspaper-staring, sitting men, De-de-dun, de-de-dun. . . . " I stop with a jerk and the sweating guards Breast the stream that nothing retards; Out with 'em, in with 'em, off again. Shop-girls jostled and sitting men, Dull and expressionless sitting men, De-de-dun, de-de-dun. . . . SOULS AND STREETS 45 " I speed through a sinuous vault underground. Columned and pillared, rock-ribbed and round; A thing of steel, I strain and I sway, I am hollow and heartless but better than they — My rows of vacuous, sitting men, My newspaper-blinded, sitting men. De-de-dun, de-de-dun, ..." 46 PAVED STREETS CONEY ISLAND ON SUNDAY— AN IMPRESSION Pleasure parading with fife and drum, Boom jig boom, boom jig boom! Won't you be merry, stranger? Come! Boom jig boom, boom jig boom! Forget the troubles you have to tell On a bumpty bump or a carousel; Crooked or straight or tall or thin. Every one is a harlequin. Laughter is tipsy; joy is drunk. The treasure of Captain Kidd is sunk Deep in the wells of a maiden's eyes; The Golden Fleece of Jason lies Ready to seize in her throbbing heart; Argonaut bold from shop and mart, Reel into step for the golden quest And be as giddy as all the rest. Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat. We should worry where we're at ! Whoop-de-doo, whoop-de-doo ! I'm silly myself, but so are you ! SOULS AND STREETS 47 THE CHILDREN'S ARMY No tune of tootling fife, No beat of the rolling drum. And yet with the thrill of life The hordes of children come. Freckled and chubby and lean, Indifferent, good and bad, Bedraggled and dirty and clean. Richly and poorly clad, They come on toddling feet To the schoolliouse door ahead ; The neighboring alley and street Resound to the infant tread. Children of those who came To the land of the promising West, Foreign of face and name. Are shoulder to shoulder pressed With the youth of the native land In the quest for truth and light, As the valorous little band Trudges to left and right. Creed and color and race Unite from the ends of the earth, Blending each noble trace In the pride of a glorious birth. Race and hate and the past Fuse in a melting heat 48 PAVED STREETS As the little hearts beat fast To the stir of a common beat. A fresher brawn and brain For the stock which the fates destroy Belong to the cosmic strain Of American girl and boy. SONG OF THE STADIUM {At the dedication of the stadium of the City College, May 29, 1915) The song of youth is calling us, The pipe of Pan enthralling us — We hear the stirring echoes of a trumpet blast. It banishes the clod in us, It wakes the pagan god in us — We follow, follow, follow, for the heart beats fast! The gates are open, open wide, And through them sweeps a steady tide Of youth — of youth and life; Their eyes are clear as woodland springs, Their sinews taut as arrow strings, Prepared for mimic strife. SOULS AND STREETS 49 In Rome each gladiator slave A grim salute to Caesar gave: " Before I die, I hail you! " Your youth, O proud Metropolis, Had rather pledge you loud with this: " Your sons shall never fail you! " We'll strive for you with might and main, We'll give you zeal of heart and brain. The uttermost we can ; Your need shall be a rolling drum — Whene'er you want us, we will come! We pledge you to a man! " The song of youth is calling us. The pipe of Pan enthralling us — We hear the stirring echoes of a trumpet blast; It banishes the clod in us. It wakes the pagan god in us — We follow, follow, follow, for the heart beats fast! 50 PAVED STREETS SPRING AT THE FISH MARKET Scene: Under the Williamsburg Bridge, lower East Side Can it be that spring is stirring in the jostle of the mart, Through the clamor and the clatter at the bearded huckster's cart, Heard amid the dinning bicker of the women as they pass, Felt amidst the noise and bustle of the densely moving mass? Can it be that spring is present, softly breathing to the throng All the world-old passion music of a new world waking song. Of a winter loosened river Onward rushing merrily; Of the countryside a-quiver With a vernal ecstasy; Of the lazy dreams a-fleeting Through an open breezy sky, Of the human hearts a-beating That the time of joy is nigh! SOULS AND STREETS 51 Strange it is, but in the jangle of the clanking metal scales, In the wearisome confusion of a hundred hurried sales. Wanders the enchanting goddess from the fields of oversea, And her voice is sweetest music as she whispers tenderly To the huddled men and women of the home- stead vale and stream. Conjuring a dear illusion with the pigments of a dream. Of a foreign hamlet lying Near a grassy green expanse; Of a faintly tremored sighing In a wood of old romance; Of a land where life was duty To an emperor or king — Reawakened to the beauty Of a long-forgotten spring ! 52 PAVED STREETS SHOLOM ALEICHEM In Memoriam Peace be with you, gentle scrivener. You who make the weary laugh. Though their hacks are sorely burdened, And they trudge with wander-staff. Tears for you? No friend to sorrow Is an author evermore Who can place a merry twinkle Where a tear had gleamed before. Glad you lived and glad you left us. In your volumes filled with mirth Lives a never-failing solace For the misery of earth. Let us think of you with gladness ; Let us write of you with cheer; For your monument — a people Laughing, laughing all the year. SOULS AND STREETS 53 O. HENRY: IN MEMORIAM (Died June 5, 1910) In the twilight of the city, as I dreamed, as I dreamed, Tangled shadows fell fantastic on the ever- pulsing street, Little lights began to glimmer through the filmy veil of night And I knew that work had ended by the home- ward-turning feet. Then a tide of men and women rolled before me from the west, Breaking over into houses, into hall and alley swirled; Back from shop and store and work-room to the refuge of the home; Through the sluices of the city beat the power of the world. And I wished I had his vision — he who saw and understood. As he watched the men and women on the stage of everyday, All the wrangling and the toiling and the bungling of the cast, While it potters through the seons in the great Creation Play. 54 PAVED STREETS How I longed to sense the meaning of the God behind it all, Of the spirit as it brightens through the coars- est human flesh, Of the music, sweetly hidden in the roaring city din. Of the single purpose showing in the tangle of the mesh. Far below me boomed the thunder and the tidal wave beat high. On its crest I saw the mummers of the passing comedy ; Shopgirls, idlers, peddlers, salesmen, errand-boys with lagging feet. Kind and sad and hostile faces in the swelling human sea. And in each I felt a story worthy of the master's skill. Sensed the presence of the passions that control the human breast, Knew an epic lived within them, dumbly waiting to be told. But a mind that knew the meaning slept in its eternal rest. What a world he left behind him, what a web of wonder tales, Fact and fiction subtly woven on the spinning wheel of Truth ! SOULS AND STREETS 55 How he caught the key of hving in the noises of the town, Major music, minor dirges, rhapsodies of Age and Youth ! In the twihght of the city, as I dreamed, as I dreamed. Watching that eternal drama in the ever- pulsing street. All about me seemed to murmur of the master passed away, And his requiem was sounded in the city's fever beat. 56 PAVED STREETS TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON I have twisted my phrases and words, In a spirit that pries and destroys, As children who potter and prod To solve their mechanical toys; Till, tired at my arabesque turns. My pen sputters back at my brain. I hungrily gaze at my screed, But the Critic within me cries, " Vain! " In the dark of my doubt, as I toil, Like one melting dross in a mould, To banish my base-flowing slag And change it, as you did, to gold; I conjure Samoa, the isle Where your tomb meets the breeze of the sea; Tusitala, my dearly beloved, I turn to you, yearning my plea: Defend me from forfeiting Hope, From fashioning wares for the mart; Inspire me, my master, to write With the red of the blood of my heart. In the darkness that comes to us all. When our world is a Stygian night, When we hesitate, stumble and reel, O lend me, my brother, thy light ! SOULS AND STREETS 57 EDGAR ALLAN POE And wan with listless watching, Hecate Beheld a student in a chamber dim Invoke the bard. It was a votary Whose chant to strains of hidden cherubim Came low and mournful through the moonlit air To echo in the caves of blind Despair. " Awake, thou matchless bard of Shadowland! Of women wondrous beautiful, but pale, Of dreams alive; of cities on a strand, Illumed by phosphor seas; of Woe and Wail; Divine musician, rend the earth and shake Thy deathly slumber off — Awake ! Awake ! " I long to hear the song of lost Lenore, In haunting rhymes and liquid measures sung, To sense thy mighty soul in grief outpour A wild lament for her who died so young. I bid that Death his gruesome work unmake, I bid thee rise to Life — Awake ! Awake ! " I crave the tremor of thy breathing lyre That mourns eternally for Doom and Sin, That sings of keen regret and vain desire As softly sweet as muted violin. Defy the sway of haughty Death and take Thy place with us again — Awake ! Awake ! 58 • PAVED STREETS " A longing mad I feel my soul consume To wander forth with thee, where brooding dwell Thy dear ones, Eulalie and Ulalume; Thy loved ones, Elinor and Annabel. In suppliant tone for mine and their sweet sake I rouse thee from thy sleep — Awake! Awake!" But wan with listless watching, Hecate Beheld the student beat his troubled breast. For thus a vagrant wind that wandered free With plaintive tone into his ear confessed, An ancient wind that knew the days of yore, " The bard you seek shall meet you — never- more." SOULS AND STREETS 59 JOSEF ISRAELS: IN MEMORIAM {182^-1911) When the fisher-folk of the Netherland coast On perilous cruises sped, When the howling wind and the swirling foam A message of danger read — There was one to measure the dread of the sea For the helpless women then, Whose bread was found on the crest of the wave By the sturdy fishermen. There was one to read the cry of the heart, As it sobbed to the lonely stone, On the mound of the man who came no more, Who left her all alone — Alone to the wind and the sea and the storm That had claimed their murderous fill ; Alone to the break of the taunting deep And a cottage, void and still. There was one to sound the plumb of despair In the wandering martyr race That flies with the wind in the fearful round Of an everlasting chase; To note the patient shoulder shrug, The pathos of mind and eye, In the form of the man with the mortal wounds. Who yet disdains to die. 60 PAVED STREETS Be good to the soul of the master, Lord, Who limned with a deathless hand, The woes of the men whose mettle you try ■ The waifs of the sea and the land. Be good to his artist soul, O Lord, For he ate of the bread of tears And drank from the bitter cup of those Who count the leaden years. SOULS AND STREETS 61 THE " SPRING POEM " SATIRIST Dedicated to Thomas R. Ybarra Ybarra spilled a can of ink Upon a budding little leaf And watched the tiny body shrink With grief. A poet passed, and pitying The victim of his brother's spleen. Wept over it, and lo ! — the thing Turned green! Ybarra threw a surly blot Across a cloudless. May time sky And jeered to see the frowning spot Grow dry. The poet moaned the base assault As from his faithful lyre he drew Such plaintive sobs that soon the vault Turned blue ! Ybarra caught a vagrant breeze. In which he jabbed a cruel pen To see if Zephyrs die with ease, But then 62 PAVED STREETS The poet healed the smarting breast With balsam from a vernal spray So well, it freshened toward the West Away. Now, what's the use, Ybarra, dear, Of being churlish? Come and sing Like all the rest of us who cheer " To Spring! " SOULS AND STREETS 63 MAY RHAPSODY Springtime has come with her whispering glad- ness Susurrant Zephyrs sighing of bloom. Yielding me ecstasies kin unto madness, Flambeaux of incense a heart to consume; Breathing of happiness. Laughing with happiness. Fragrant and rosy and banishing gloom. Fresh as the Dawn that in primitive glory Blushed with affright at the vision of Man, Dewy as morn in Arthurian story. Brimming with life as when Knighthood began. Bubbling with merriment, Bounding with merriment. Springtime advances to linger a span. Over her tresses a chaplet of flowers Carelessly twined and a trifle askew, Sprinkled with drops of her opulent showers Or wet with the glittering touch of the dew; Wondrously beautiful. Wild-eyed and beautiful. Trembling with joy at a World that is new. 64 PAVED STREETS Love is her boon to the soul-weary mortal, Love but a dream-enthralled being may know, Wafting him back to the Paradise Portal, Lending him pinions to rise over Woe; Scattering violets, Pansies and violets. Faint with delights of a sweet Long-Ago. ROSEMARY AND RUE The leaves have fallen. Overhead The ghostly trees are bare; In brown and red, on lowly bed A clan is sleeping there. Perchance the solitary leaf That flutters in the blast Recalls in quiverings of grief The brilliant summer passed. The song of roses calls in vain And leaves for me and you A haunting, sober, sweet refrain Of rosemary and rue. Of rue and rosemary, my love, Of rosemary and rue. SOULS AND STREETS 65 In vain for mortal heart and way The fervent pHghted vow! The verdant spray of yesterday Is sere and withered now. Perhaps the motley, fallen rout Remembers how, in spring, It rustled promises devout Unto the branch to cling. And now the song of wind and rain Is bringing me and you A haunting, sober, sweet refrain Of rosemary and rue. Of rue and rosemary, my love. Of rosemary and rue. PAVED STREETS THE HOMECOMING I roam the highways over and over For the wisp of a gleam that leads me; I trample the dust in the noon-day sun And call — but it never heeds me; I follow the gold to the slumbering west Where the road and the sky arch play. But the wisp of a dream on the border line Eludes me — it will not stay. For a man may fail to find the trail- That leads to his heart's desire, But on he must through mud and dust From dawn to evening fire. But who is this in the highway standing. She with the eyes that call me? I am tired of the road, the sinuous road, Her laughing eyes enthrall me. I long for the feel of her cooling hand On my hair and my throbbing brow; Then take my love, O wife of my dreams, I would cease my wandering now. For we can not fail to find the trail That leads to our heart's desire, If love as guide with us abide From dawn to evening fire. SOULS AND STREETS 67 RAIN SONG Many a time in the aeons past I swished to the whip of the northern blast; I romped in the sleet and rejoiced in the hail, Fled with the whirlwind and danced with the gale. Gently I fell to the crooning springs, Benison bringing on watery wings; Soft as the hand of a mother caressing I fondled the earth and gave it my blessing. Now as I fall, though I patter of sorrow, I whisper the hope of a new tomorrow. Every drop of me reaching the sod Carries the grace and the pity of God. 68 PAVED STREETS TO A POET ON HIS TRAVELS Gently, Wind, Temper thy stroke; Shake the leaves On the giant oak; But spare the bard In the threadbare cloak. Softly, Rain, Fall on the heath ; Be kind to the wayfaring Men beneath; And most to a lad With a poet's wreath. Guide him, Moon, With a friendly ray. When he wanders at night Lilting a lay. To find in the dark His chosen way. Grant him. Wood, In thy arbors dim. Shelter in peril Of life or limb; The love of a people He bears with him. AN ANCIENT RACE THE SON OF AN ANCIENT RACE Suggested by a painting of the same name, the work of Josef Israels, in the Rijks Museum, Amster- dam,. A gas-lit gloom oppresses the shop, The air is heated and stale ; Persistent machines without a stop Rehearse a monotonous tale. Before his task in a reverie, As the wheels drone on apace, There pauses a scion of destiny. The son of an ancient race. He dreams . . . that the Lord in the vanguard goes And blazes a triumph-trail Of woe and defeat for Israel's foes ! A million voices hail In pseans of praise the glory of God! A glow illumines the face Of the heir to the fat of the conquered sod, The son of an ancient race. And then alone through the dark, long years He totters with timorous tread; Alone, the prey of a thousand fears. 72 PAVED STREETS He learns to droop his head; From the height of his pride he is downward hurled To reel from place to place, Mock of the nations and butt of the world. The son of an ancient race. The flesh pots of Egypt . . . then liberty, Ambition, might, disdain. And then ... a cycle of misery, A welter of blood and pain. Will Israel's moan at the scourge of the rod, As it echoes far through space. Some day invoke the grace of God For the son of an ancient race? AN ANCIENT RACE 73 HOW LONG, O LORD! In the weary night they come to me, The tears that I left unshed, When I trudged the thorny wilderness With the sun-flame overhead. I lie awake in the friendly night. My soul too numb to pray. Enjoying the cool of its velvet black In the dread of the coming day. For the day must come and the sting of it, As I bend to the endless road. The light must come and the pain of it, — The bite of the lashing goad. But this I know as I reel along To the nations' hue and cry, A burning truth in the hand of God : I know that I must not die. They say my soul is twisted and warped. My ways are cringing and mean. That I worship the bulk of the calf of gold, That my hands are not white and clean; They say — but a thousand reasons hold To stalk the quarry then When the lust for blood is hunger-felt By the beast that dwells in men. 74 PAVED STREETS When Kindness is taught at the end of a rope, And Love to the music of groans ; When Charity masks in a cloak of flame, And Mercy in falling stones, — What wonder the balm for the spirit fails When the wounds are kept so fresh Through countless years of active hate In the rack of the tortured flesh? I have ceased to long for the clasp of Love, To dream of the smile of a friend, I grip my trusty wander-staff In a journey without an end. My faith is strong as the primal rocks. And deep as my tearless woes; I am Job of the nations — heir of wrongs, But why — Jehovah knows. AN ANCIENT RACE 75 THE OTHER CHEEK {From a Jewish standpoint) Songs of hate for the newly stressed! We who have borne the burden long Scorn the feverish heat and zest That finds a vent in poisoned song. Blood ye take when the foe retreats, Blood ye get when the foe breaks through. Whatever the message the drummer beats, It's hell for us and blood for you. The star of David is dyed in gore, Maccabee's daughters droop in shame; Whatever the tale the cannons roar For you, for us it is still the same. At the shrine of God we pray for you. We, the weakest and strongest of men; On the fields of death we slay for you Our very kin — and you slay us then. If we should curse you, as you deserve, If we should loose our burden of ire ; Planets would falter, suns would swerve, Earth be swept by volcanic fire; But we who crossed the Red Sea trail When Egypt's star began to dim Will live to see your hatred fail As Pharaoh's did when he mocked at Him. 76 PAVED STREETS We who have borne the scourge of Rome Deem that your puny vaunts are vain; Eternal rocks to the angry foam. We weathered the proud caprice of Spain. Ye may wound us sore till our bleeding hearts Conjure death as a blessing, still By the law of laws your venomous darts. Though rankle they must, can never kill. God of Gideon, David and Saul, God of the prophet's holy tears; Thou who markest the sparrow's fall. Thou who hast led us thousands of years. Grant to us when they smite our cheek To turn the other to them and smile, For we shall live though our lives they seek, But they are dying all the while. AN ANCIENT RACE 77 THE BANNER OF GOD This is a struggle of democracy against autocracy. — Theme of President Wilson's address. The deathless eye of Israel Beheld beneath the skies, Ash-gray with battle smoke and death, Another banner rise. And, floating high above the pall, That standard seemed to be The word of God revealed to man By ancient prophecy. " Through fire," it sang, " come follow me! The life Almighty gave Had better far go back to Him Than dwell in any slave." " Through blood-red mist," it chanted loud, " My soul exultant sings The paean of all that is to be, The dirge and doom of kings." " Beat down," it called, " whatever binds — Your shackles, bolts and bars. The dawn's pure blush is in my stripes, God's hope is in my stars! " 78 PAVED STREETS The heart of Israel surged high As does the wind-blown sea; " My flag! " he cried, " I pledge to you My deathless fealty! " AN ANCIENT RACE 79 ISRAEL'S BURDEN Eyes like balls of molten madness stare and stare the livelong night, Reading what the fancy conjures with the dawn of morning light. Wraiths of humans fleeing, fleeing . . . moaning an eternal " Why? " Plod along deserted highways under sun and star-lit sky. Fields, though seamed with many furrows, bear no crop for farm and town. Over them the death-clouds hover like a mist- gray mourning gown. Messengers of fate vibrating through the sulphur- laden air Hum their hymns of hate unending and their echo moans despair. Israel! For thee the reaper sweeps his scythe on hill and plain; His the harvest of thy children and thy tears are all in vain. Whether in thy heart be Kaiser or the call of La Patrie, Whether fighting stanch for England or the land that slaughters thee. 80 PAVED STREETS Thine the heavy, heavy burden; thine the toll of lives to pay, Thine the martyrdom of ages; thine a night that knows no day. If thy sorrow does not touch me, if thy pangs but leave me cold, If thy oft-recurring story seems a tale too often told, If I read thy plea for succor, dull to sense what others bear. Blind to all but self and callous how my luckless brothers fare, Shake my soul, O Lord, with thunder; wring my heart with pity-spell; Make me feel in this, my refuge, all the woe of Israel. Else the trumpet of the morrow, shrilling forth the nobler day, Will reveal my soul to judgment, sere and shriv- elled, worn away. AN ANCIENT RACE 81 ON THE OCCASION OF MR. SCHIFF'S BIRTHDAY, JANUARY 10th, 1917 Israel rose from the cinders of sorrow, Proud in her grief; her voice was mild; " Men like you shape the new to-morrow," She said to her favorite son — and smiled. " Men like you are the world's salvation; They bless the spot wherever they be; For them a psean of all creation Sounds high praise on land or sea. " Giant soul! In the world's mad blindness You see to heal its pangs and smarts; You sow the seeds of human kindness. You reap the harvest of thankful hearts." 82 PAVED STREETS THE KINGDOM OF POLAND An eternal wanderer speaks Lo! As I flee through the highways of men, on Time's immemorial sphere, Phantasms come and phantasms go, but a dom- inant plan is clear. Whenever a soul dies, shrivelled up, or a nation dries at the heart, They are each swept back by the Maker of All to the darkness where all things start. I have eaten bread to the sting of a lash and fled from the terror of flame; I have wandered and suffered, wept and prayed — but that way Wisdom came. I have learned to laugh at the tyrant's goad, the oppressor's bloody urge; As he tortured me I mocked at him and sang his funeral dirge. I knew he was wrong and could not last, that he could not change the plan Made by the Changeless Powers That Be for the slow ascent of Man; AN ANCIENT RACE 83 For his gradual climb from chaos-depth to the clearness of upper air, For his rise to the sun of harmony from the slime of hate's despair. Nations, like pilgrim-knights, may fare on a quest where weaklings fail; When they raise the sword of truth and right, they find the Holy Grail. When they flash the brand of bigotry, when their hearts are false, unjust. Instead of the holy cup of Christ, they see but clouds of dust. There is room to spare for kingdoms on earth — but the cry of the blood-soaked sod Is not for another tyrant state, but a merciful kingdom of God. Poland! Poland! Kneel to be crowned, but rise prepared for the test. The joust of the ages in every clime for the cause of Man's oppressed. Poland! Poland! Arm for the fray, unshackled, God-like, free; Become the anointed champion of all who plod like me. 84 PAVED STREETS Of all who creep through the weary days to the dreams of a sleepless night, Fearing the dark, but fearing more the dawn and the tell-tale light. If not — like the rest of things outworn, nations or creeds or men. Back you must go to the bottomless pit and there start over again. THE GREAT STRUGGLE SONG OF THE VOLGA BOATMEN Drift, logs, drift, down the swift stream; Float, logs, float, beyond the Port o' Dream. The sunlight pats my Luba's cheeks And makes them glow like W'ine; The breeze brings fragrance once again From cedar, birch, and pine. A dirge-song died upon the wind That dried my Luba's tears; Her lips are dumb with answered prayer, Her eyes with banished fears. Batyushka Gosudar, Wan wanes thy setting star. Fallen art thou. Great White Czar. Turn logs, turn, through the foam and swirl; Glide, logs, glide, along the white whirl. For me my Luba sits and waits, For me a feast is spread; No more like wolf-hound lean and lone Must I devour my bread. The jingling cow-bells tinkle paeans Of home and joy to me; My heart leaps God-ward like the blaze That set my Russia free! Batyushka Gosudar, Wan wanes thy setting star. Fallen art thou, Great White Czar. 88 PAVED STREETS CHANT OF LOYALTY Firm as the furnace heat Rivets the bars of steel, Thus to thy destiny, Flag, are we plighted; One are the hearts that beat, One is the throb we feel. One in our loyalty. Stand we united. Many a folk have brought Sinew and brawn to thee; Many an ancient wrong Well hast thou righted; Here in the land we sought, Stanchly, from sea to sea. Here, where our hearts belong. Stand we united. Ask us to pay the price, All that we have to give, Nothing shall be denied. All be requited; Ready for sacrifice. Ready for thee to live. Over the country wide, Stand we united. THE GREAT STRUGGLE 89 One under palm and pine, One in the prairie sun, One on the rock-bound shore. Liberty-sighted ; All that we have is thine. Thine, who hast made us one, True to thee evermore, Stand we united. LET THERE BE LIGHT! {Dedicated to the proposed Statue of Liberty that will be presented by the people of America to the people of Russia) Over the land that the Cossack had harried, Over the realm that a tyrant had wrung, Verst upon verst let the glad news be carried. League upon league let the tidings be sung. The voice of the people, Mightier far Than the mandate of Emperor, Sultan or Czar, Has spoken the word That has banished the night, Has thundered in majesty, "Let there be light!" 90 PAVED STREETS Grant them, O Lord, who have drunk deep of sorrow. The cup of good-will that will toast their release ; Them who have hungered in fear, on the morrow Blessings of plenty and bounty of peace. The wings of the raven Had darkened their days. Hiding the sun And its comforting rays; But now that the bird Of ill-omen, in flight Has vanished forever. Let there be light! We who have felt with them all of their sadness. We who have marvelled the patience that bore Knut, sword and fire, the devices of madness. Send them a beacon from liberty's shore. And they who had faltered In darkness and dread May fearlessly venture To struggle ahead. The torch-flare of freedom Must guide them aright; America calls to them " Let there be light!" THE GREAT STRUGGLE 91 SONG OF THE U-BOAT I am blind of heart, I am blind of soul; But I creep like life To a destined goal. Through the nether sweep Of the crafty deep I forge my way, — No ripple above My course to betray. I am charged with death, I am charged with hate; And oh for the ship In my line of fate ! Her timbers rock To the thud and shock; She sinks below : My masterpiece Of red, red woe! When Death will yield To Love and Life, When the Law of God Will banish Strife, I shall haunt the sea Like an unpurged sin But the fish will stare At me — and grin. 92 PAVED STREETS TO THE STATUE OF LIBERTY On the occasion of its Illumination, December 2nd Pityingly, O Mother of Light, You darted long rays Into our darkness, Calling to us as we wept Or as we cowered in self-abasement. " Come to me! " you said, " Poor pawns in the game of royalty, Come to me and learn once more That man is made in the image of God." We came, O Mother of Light ! From shores innumerable we came In droves like the beasts of the field. We came ignorant, blinded, crippled. Our tears still fresh on our cheeks. The lash print red on our backs. We came crouching in terror. You quickened our fear-palsied souls With messages of hope and courage. You bade us trample on our fetters, And stand erect before the world. We swear to you, O Mother of Light, That we, your foster-children, Freemen knighted by the grace of God, Will keep your arm forever lifted. Your torch forever burning! THE GREAT STRUGGLE 93 THE CRY OF HUMANITY {A reply to "The Cry of France" in The Times of August 19) " Welcome their hordes To glut our swords." Joseph I. C. Clarke. I am Humanity Calling through the ages To all of you, my children! Who are the hordes That glut your swords? Are those the guilty ones Whose lifeblood overruns The guttered fields of France? Hell's banner flutters wide As all of you advance. The Teuton's dogged drive. The Briton's bulldog pull. The Slav's determined trudge, The gallant dash of France — What mean they all to me. Bereft Humanity? For I must mourn you all, My children you who fall. If one who wears a crown Gives way to ghastly whim, Must millions, battered down, Be sacrificed to him? 94 PAVED STREETS I am Humanity Calling through the ages To all of you, my children! Listen to your hearts And send your flaming darts Against the whole array Who herded you for fray! You need not seek for hordes To glut your willing swords. Turn plague and sword and fire, Turn all your pent-up ire Upon the few Who slaughter you. Turn hell and pest and flame On those who play the game, On those whose royal will Sent all of you to kill. I am Humanity Calling through the ages To all of you, my children ! THE GREAT STRUGGLE 95 MEN I see them in a vision. They are masters of death. I see them Laying mines To annihilate thousands; Sighting intrenchments To guide their gun play; Unleashing deadly gases Wind driven, toward the enemy. I see them in a vision, These masters of death; Not beasts snorting hell fire Are they; Just men — Strong men, brave men, Good men, wise men. All bent on achieving — death. I see them before me. They are masters of life. I see them Digging tunnels For the transit of thousands; Rearing wonder structures of steel To shelter their own kind; 96 PAVED STREETS In their laboratories Enslaving air, water, earth and fire For the service of millions. I see them before me, These masters of life; Not angels shining in celestial glory Are they; Just men — Strong men, brave men. Good men, wise men. All bent on promoting — life. Men — just men. THE GREAT STRUGGLE 97 TO WAR BARDS Please note, my friend Of lyric trend, That cannon " boom " To "gloom" or "doom;" But when they " roar " They roar of "war;" That balls will "burst" To rhymes like "curst;" That men will "fall" When countries "call;" That jflowing" blood" Suggests a "flood;" That " hopes of peace " Will go with "cease." But try to sell ThestuflF, and — Well, You'll know instead What Sherman said. 98 PAVED STREETS SEA WAIFS Salt fresh is the breeze from the sea; Brine sharp is its buoyant caress; It speeds the foam shoreward in glee, There is joy in its call, wild and free, " La jeunesse ! La jeunesse ! " "Youth," it is laughing, " I bring On the hollow and crest of the surge; And I carry the tang of the spring In the spume that I scatter and fling. Yet my heart is a dirge ! " For voices of children I hear In the boom of the oncoming waves; Voices that cry to me clear From the heart of the turbulent mere. From their kelp covered graves. Breeze of the sea! ' from the tide Their pitiful voices ring, ' Take us with you for a ride, We are the babies who died Too young to know spring! ' " THE GREAT STRUGGLE 99 WHERE DO WE STAND? Where do we stand? Perhaps the answer leads Us back to days of old, to stubborn years When power over soil and men through deeds Of pluck was won by gallant pioneers. They met their doubts and perils face to face. The savage skulked within his wilds, but soon The builders, sowers, reapers took his place. May we fall short of Standish, Smith and Boone? Where do we stand? Injustice oversea Constrained our kin to rally and to arm; We gathered hosts to fight for liberty From forge and shop, from forest, field, and farm. We had our rustic leaders, Putnams, Waynes, A troop of daring volunteers, and one Who led them all through many grim campaigns. Has time erased the name of Washington? Where do we stand? In civil strife we fought For what we each regarded true and right ; And when, at last, the boon of peace was bought. We each repaired the breaches made in fight. A sorry struggle, but it left the land In stronger union, blood-cemented, game, The curse of slavery forever banned, A monument to Lincoln's hallowed name. 100 PAVED STREETS Where do we stand? Look back upon them all. What stirring feelings can these names inspire! They key our hearts to throb at danger's call, They fill our veins with patriotic fire. How can we help but stand for dangers met, For rights defended — liberty, forsooth, For all the virtues troubled times beget? Our heroes teach us courage, freedom, truth ! DEMOS: A RHAPSODY {Suggested by the Russian Renaissance) Lo! In the welter of storms they shall hear him, Shaking the earth with his terrible voice; Lo ! In the chaos of hell they shall fear him ; Masters will tremble and bondmen rejoice ! Dumb through the cycle of numberless ages, Unable to falter, unable to speak, — At last like the beasts in their murderous rages Battering bars of the hindering cages, Demos will rouse himself . . . Demos will shriek ! Then all the little men. Those who had prodded him, Those who had mocked at him, THE GREAT STRUGGLE 101 Fat little men who had held him in scorn, Bald little men who had smugly dictated, Mustachioed men who had strutted and prated, Uniformeed men who had shouted, commanded, Men in black robes who had flouted and branded, — All of them hearing The voice of the giant. Obeying and fearing His mandate defiant, Dreading his gaunt, inarticulate being, — All of them . . . fleeing. Unheeding, unseeing. Shedding their robes and their sceptres and uni- forms Casting aside all their honors and mummeries, Flim-flam and flummeries Trappings and state. Downward will drop through the swift-rushing darkness Leagues and leagues . . . where eternities wait! And then from their caverns the millions will creep. Wan wraiths of humans Aroused from their sleep. Reeling in hunger . . . frightened, unsteady. Limp and unready. 102 PAVED STREETS Demos will croon to them Just like a mother Soothing her little one Crying in sleep. " Gone are the creatures Of wars and disasters; Fled are your overlords Crowned heads and masters. Pick up their robes and their sceptres and uni- forms ; Gather their honors, their symbols and mum- meries, Flim-flam and flummeries. All that you trembled at, worn by your ' sires,' Pile them and kindle them ; Let all the fears you nursed Vanish in prayer with the smoke of your fires." " But who are you, O mysterious giant. Pleading in thunder? You who have roused us to life from the grave; You who have cloven the chains of the slave ; Who are you that you should be obeyed? Tell us , . . we know not . . . we're weak and afraid." THE GREAT STRUGGLE 103 "Who am I? By all that is broken Shattered and crushed, By all that you hope for, By all that you deem God-like and holy. Know you not me? I am the voice of you, I am the goal of you, Brawn, bones and blood of you, Heart, mind and soul of you . . . I am your dream! " 104 PAVED STREETS THE LIGHT ON THE MOUNTAIN I walked through the darkling meadows In the valley; Slow-stepping, head bowed, I plodded on, Unmindful of the shadows That kept snuffing out the last glimmerings of day, Leaving on earth only night, Only night. There was night within me, too, I seemed to see millions of imploring hands Raised high in prayer; " Our backs are heavy laden, O Lord, Our strength is spent; In Thy infinite mercy have pity on us, Thy children! " I seemed to see anguish limned on faces Too rigid-set for tears. And as I walked through the darkling meadows In the valley. There was night in me, too. Then I looked up at the scarred mountain side Looming high above me; And the giant cliffs were silhouetted Athwart the waning daylight. THE GREAT STRUGGLE 105 This, thought I, is reality. Against it Man pounds his poor, soft fists; And up to its top he looks for light; But there is no light. As I mused thus, From the very peak A ray of friendly lamplight Filtered through the darkness. It came from the window of a little shack On the mountain side And sought me out Depressed and sore with doubt As I wandered in the valley below. Perhaps, thought I, that is God's way. His will remains inscrutable Though our woes be many; But somewhere from His pinnacle He sends down a gleam of hope To us, who struggle on. In the darkness of the world valley As we pass from one infinity To the other. 106 PAVED STREETS CALIBAN TO THE WAR-GOD One eye that peeps above the ocean plane, My periscope, to sight a victim nigh; And then, a steady crawhng on; in vain She flies ahead; I mark her; she must die. I chuckle when I see those merchant hulks Loom up to such dimensions. Little me Is big enough for them; their clumsy bulks Will soon be rotting deep within the sea. A funny thing occurred the other day; I crushed a liner's bow; she dropped like stone And on her decks you should have seen the way Those mortals paled; I laughed to hear them groan. I did it all, my master, just for you. A trifle ! Caliban will play his part To suit your will, augustness, sparing few For, like yourself, your servant has no heart. THE GREAT STRUGGLE 107 NOCTURNE " Watcher in the trenches, How wears the night? " "Nothing is seen in the midnight sky- But the trail of the death rockets flashing by: So wears the night." " Watcher in the trenches. How wears the night? " " A form in the starlight gasping its last, The tail of a meteor shimmering past : So wears the night." " Watcher in the trenches, How wears the night? " " Darkness, darkness, then afar The sudden glare of a man-made star: So wears the night." " Watcher in the trenches. How wears the night? " " Dawn flares up in the bloody east. The vultures swoop to a carrion feast : So wears the night." " Dreamer in the tower. How will it end? " "The mists are shrouding a red, red sun, Humans are blind and only One May know the end." Seave R -HowlandPUSS 271 Franklin St. 'BOSTOM