MORNING NOON AND NIGHT GLENN WARD DRESBACH Class .££5X1 Book ^ )0P3TightEl CQESRIGHT DEPOSIT. MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT BY Glenn Ward Dresbach In the Paths of the Wind The Road to Everywhere MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT BY GLENN WARD DRESBACH Boston The Four Seas Company 1920 Copyright, 1920, by The Four Seas Company -¥: s<^^° The Four Seas Company Boston, Mass, U. S. A. i^HC 27 IS20 'CLA605471 PREFATORY NOTE Many of the poems included in this volume have appeared in Contemporary Verse, The Bookman, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, The Smart Set, The Midland, Romance, Munsey's, The Forum, The Lyric, and The Madrigal, and I thank them for permission to republish. Glenn Ward Dresbach Late Captain, S. C, U. S. A. Tyrone, New Mexico September p, igig CONTENTS Page Songs in the Burro Mountains ii Songs while the Apple Blossoms Fall ... 13 The Nest of the Bluebird 16 Goodnight Song 25 While the Caravan Rested 26 I Made You a Song 31 Song for a Guitar 32 Songs While the Leaves Are Falling • • • 33 The Dreamers 37 Restless Spirit 38 Defeat 39 Chains 40 The Ship Without a Port 41 The Village of the Doves 50 1 Heard a Thrush When Twilight Came . . 51 The Colonel's Lady 52 Since Youth is all for Gladness .... 56 A Morning Road Song 57 Appointments . . . . ■ 58 To One Beloved 59 The Price of Corn 60 Song, "I Have Loved the Rainbows" ... 62 You ARE NOT OF A TiME OR PlACE 63 Songs After the War 64 The Murderer God Sentenced 67 The Dance 70 A Pipe Smoker to a Coquette 71 Autumn Nocturne ^2 Follow the Crows 73 Songs While the First Snow Falls ... 75 Seeds of the Thistle 79 A Young Girl Flees the Coming Storm . . 82 CONTENTS Winds That Have Moved the Friendly Trees 83 lonesomeness 84 A Farewell 85 The Grave 86 The Man Who Would Not Go To War ... 87 Dewdrops 89 Song, "You Ask Me Sometimes" ..... 90 I Had Forgotten 91 Christmas Eve, 1917 .92 The Desert and the Sea 93 Song, "Would You Go in Chariot" .... 94 Margarita 95 The Loquacious Outlaw . . . . . . .96 To THE Night Wind . . 98 Camouflage loi The Lark and the Guinea Hens .... 104 MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT SONGS IN THE BURRO MOUNTAINS I. I know a little blue-eyed pool That lies among wind-shaken pines, And from its depths unstirred and cool Two streams go forth in silver lines. Swift, leaping, twisting, shallow things With free wild beauty such as clings To memory without a cause. Then half a mile away they pause, It seems, bewildered, in new lands. And creep back to the still, bleached sands. And go from sight . . . Oh, are these streams The little pool's unconquered Dreams? In these high places can it be They know of, and would find, the Sea! II. It seems sometimes that I have been A crag wind-crippled cedars clung About with roots, while far-oflF green Of waving grasses fresh and young Taunted my vision — wondered why I knew that I must see them die ! III. There is a hut far up the path. Its door has fallen, and the sun Looks in by day, and many stars Look in when day is done. II There is an idle mining claim — Dug into rock, a fling at Chance! But, God, for what there is not here Look on his grave in France! IV. I would build myself a house On this mountain top today. Not to shun the World, or feel It was shutting me away. But that I might come at times Little things had baffled me. And look out, with setting sun, On Immensity. 12 SONGS WHILE THE APPLEBLOSSOMS FALL I. Pink and white on the grasses The scattered blossoms fall, And winds go whispering over The moss-grown orchard wall. The trees like brides are dropping The bridal veil and gown . . . Pink and white on the grasses The blooms are drifting down. But in the leaves is music Like fairy violins — Bloom-rapture softly passes. Fruit-growing now begins. But what has gone, with blossoms, No fruit gives me or you? Something that goes from dreaming When the dream comes true! n. I saw a grown girl wading A brook among the trees, With sun-warmed water dancing About her dimpled knees. 13 Three years ago I called her Spiildle Legs, and then She kicked a cloud of water And waded on again. But now^ — she heard my footsteps And cried, "Oh, go away!" Blushing, she smiled and added, "I am sixteen today !" III. There is an old tree standing Among the younger trees. And from its weathered branches No blooms fall on the breeze. And as I watch I wonder At last how it will be When Spring may come, and passing Has not a gift from me. IV. A gipsy passed me with a song ■- Where men went out to sow, And he went down the winding road Where the maples grow. And still his song came back to me When he was far away, "The Flask holds but a pint of wine- Tomorrow is Today!" 14 "My love has made a tent for me From stars above the hill — Go break your heart, and build yourself A stone house, if you will !" I made my Love a moon-song Just a year ago. And hand in hand we wandered Where the stars were low . . I made my Love a moon-song, A wistful silver tune, And then her heart danced to it, And then she whispered soon, "Now I have your moon-song — And I want the moon !" I led her to a near pool . . . The moon was in it, too ! I grasped the moon in water — The water trickled through My fingers — and I held out My hand as beggars do ! 15 THE NEST OF THE BLUEBIRD "A Dreamer has as many lives As he can dream. Within the hives Of bees is stored the wealth they find Roaming the pathways of the Wind," Said John, the Dreamer, on^ra day We watched the water-lilies sway Languidly and restfuUy In a brook that sought the sea Longingly, yet playfully. He said, "It seems that long ago I saw the apple blossoms blow In a place fairer than this, Found there wondrous lips to kiss While the blossoms pink and white. Touched with darts of golden light. Fell on my beloved's breast. And in that place was the Bluebird's nest ! "Or else why have I always sought Through many a life and many a thought The Bluebird's nest I found And lost, O long ago? In an enchanted ground That still I seem to know ! . . . Long, O very long, ago The Circle started. It must end Where it started, friend! Years and years after i6 The sweet, clear laughter May ring again in that same place, And I may see again her face And see the apple blossoms fall Upon her breast, Hear Bluebirds call — And find again the Bluebird's nest ! . "After I lost my first Life's glory I remember hazily. As in an ancient half-told story, How the battle called to me. And I see the flash of spears, Dimmed now by the mist of years. And I feel, somehow, the battle Surging through me, hear the rattle Of the shields and see grim faces That I looked on long ago, how very long ago ! And I hear the gasps and groans. Thuds of blows, and hollow moans, And the battle-songs, long-sung In a strange remembered tongue . . "I remember hazily How the battle raged all day In the mountains near the sea. Then as daylight slipped away 1 sunk deeper than the sea Into emptiness. No more I remember of the battle. T7 I remember that a door Closed on me. I hear the rattle Of the chains that bound me fast In a dungeon. Long days passed In a stillness like the mold On the walls all scarred and old. And there I dreamed I saw the sway Of branches on a golden day, And saw the apple blossoms fall Over my beloved's breast. In my dreams I heard the call, Aching with a mild unrest, Of the Bluebirds flitting, flying, While I lay in cold hell dying, Living — dying. Dying — living. Gaining nothing, nothing giving ! "I remember hazily How I heard men calling me. Saw the dungeon doors swing wide. Blinking, I was led outside To the sun! Still I feel the leap and run Of the glad blood in my heart. Once again I was a part Of the world that called to me . . . "Yet often still it seems to me I see cold walls rise gruesomely About me in the hush of things. i8 Faintly I hear a bird that sings Out in the sunlight, glad and free, With things that are denied to me. I feel the creep of chill and dread. Always alive — yet sometimes dead! "I remember hazily How I thrilled again to see White sails gleaming on the bay. And I longed to be away. Out into the endless blue, Seeking something that I knew Could not give me peace or rest. So I sailed into the West — Long years after, so it seems. In a Life — or in my dreams ! "I seem to smell the salty spray. And see the low shore fade away Into the haze, and then the sea Spoke and sang, and dreamed with me ! "Then an anger at my Fate Burned in me, a lean red fire. So it seems I came to hate All that hindered my desire. And the sea grew wilder, too. Over all the open blue Fell a writhing mask of cloud. Voices in the winds were loud. Loud and wild. Then came the still 19 Madness before the storm that came Suddenly with swords of flame. Bellowing upon the sea. A strange gladness stirred in me! "I remember hazily Rising, falling with the sea. Wearily and dreamily, On a spar alone, alone. In the vastness, with the moan Of the spent winds over me. Hours later — hours of hell — With a blindly groping hand I crawled from the sea to sand On a bare beach. There I fell In deep sleep — to dream, to dream Of an old enchanted place And of my beloved's face ! From the dream I awoke and climbed a hill Crowned with trees and very still But for great birds over me, Crying in from sea. There I found a cool, clear rill, Found ripe fruit upon a tree And I drank and ate my fill. Then I roamed across the hill. Heard the waters dash and moan And I found I was alone On a little isle. There I stayed a weary while . . . 20 Now and then I saw a sail, Shouted, wept, to no avail — Ever sails passed by. Nothing but the sea bird's cry Answered me. And I wished my soul could fly, Like the white sails out at sea. Out of me, leaving me In the place I crept to die. "And often still it seems td me I see the gleam of sails at sea, Of sails that pass and leave me still Upon my silent hill. I see the waves that toss and moan, With worlds before me — ^yet alone While fade the sails in sunset fire Out toward the lands of my Desire ! "Then one day came a little ship That roamed there on a pleasure trip, And I was saved. No gladness Lifted my sullen madness. I saw the island fade All touched with amethyst and jade. As in a dream that had not known The days that I lived there alone. "I remember hazily That I saw from far at sea A city's spires arise 21 Into the leaden skies — And then forgetfulness ! The page Of Dreams is here a blank. An Age Passes in silence. Then, again I lived within a world of men And women, in a place where feet Throbbed in my brain as on the street. I remember hazily Crowds that hurried on with me — Painted faces, weary faces, Rags and velvet gowns and laces. Gray-day clothes and play-day clothes ! Never any sweet repose Filled me. On from place to place I was swept with frenzied pace. I remember rather clearly That all pleasure cost me dearly. Youth's enchantment left me there — I read stories in a stare. In the lines of mouth and brow. Even as I read them now. I remember how I toiled In a place where dreams were spoiled, Gaining wealth, and spending it, Spending it, and lending it — Laughing harshly, hungrily For a joy lost to me! "I remember hazily That a girl came up to me As I strolled a park one night 22 When the airs of Spring were light. I saw the lights reveal her face, Its lure, its light, its plain disgrace, And maddened suddenly I clasped her close; as suddenly I hurled her arms from me. I caught the scent of apple bloom That seemed to rise from out a tomb That was in me. I heard the call Of Bluebirds far, O far away. And that is all — An old Dream held me in its sway An old Love-life would have its way! 'T lived again within a city, And little hope and little pity Walked the streets with me: I remember hazily How wealth fell into my hands, How I gained in power and pride, How the world walked at my side Bowing — holding out its hands ! 'T remember hazily That the lights gleamed over me In my mansion near the sea. That my guests were in the rooms. Subtle smiles and thick perfumes Were about me everywhere. Each face seemed a mask to wear Brazenly or fearfully In my mansion near the sea. 23 "On a starry balcony With a woman that was fair, I remember hazily How the clean, sea- freshened air Blew a lock of perfumed hair Till it touched my cheek. Then she swayed, as in a mist In my arms. Her lips I kissed And she kissed mine. Then suddenly. While I listened, strangely weak, I heard a Bluebird calling me, Far and far away ! "That is why I left next day All the city streets behind For the Pathways of the Wind . . . "I shall seek — and I shall find Some day, in this Life or the next, So says my golden dream-book's text. My Dream's enchanted place. And look on my beloved's face While the blossoms pink and white. Touched with darts of golden light, Fall upon her breast. And I shall find the Bluebird's nest! O I shall find the Bluebird's nest ! "Long, O very long ago. Touched with golden gleam and glow. The Circle started. It must end Where it started, friend!" 24 GOODNIGHT SONG No night comes down with stars for me But that I think of you. There is a half-heard symphony, As if the Silence knew The words you whispered. In the Spring When grass and leaf are whispering I hear you whisper. Summer brings With fruit among the whispering leaves A tone, and then my soul believes In all that lives, in all that sings. And when the Autumn moonlight weaves Its magic over things that pass, The grain, the leaves, the drooping grass, Because you speak in all these things My soul looks on with guided eyes, And then believes in all that dies. Ah, gone is olden mystery ! I know now what your spirit knew — No night comes down with stars for me But that I think of you ! 25 WHILE THE CARAVAN RESTED All day I had been riding on the plains While heat-waves rippled like a hateful sea And hot winds curled the grasses. Here and there I saw a cornfield with its tassels dried And drooping with defeated hopes of growth. Late in the afternoon I reached a house Where two small cottonwoods stood wearily. Their thirsting leaves stirred harshly in the wind. I found the place deserted, and the floors Of two small rooms were covered with the dust Of many wind-storms. In a spider's corner I found some school books scattered on the floor. And as I looked through one of them I saw A little picture stuck between the leaves. A girl with full lips and a mass of hair Smiled from the picture, but it seemed her eyes Were looking far for many things unfound. Impatiently I threw the book aside Where I had found it, yet kept wondering About the girl, while I went on my way. A little further on I turned to look Back at that small house with its little trees Drooped in the heat. My horse was lathered white Along the neck, and I was glad to find A sturdy group of trees some miles ahead. The farmer came to meet me at his gate, And when my horse was watered and turned loose To eat the grass grown high around the well The farmer sat with me beneath the trees 26 And talked of drouth. His old eyes squinted hard Across the level lands, his knotted hands Trembled with weariness, it seemed to me. He said, "This is a land that sometimes gives And sometimes takes. You need a hardy soul To fight its moods and win . . . My children went To find work in the city, and I think That I am glad of it although my wife Is rather lonely. I get lonely, too. Old as I am, but I must keep the farm. I studied for the law, but failed at that And took this homestead years ago, and worked And made a living while my children grew." I had been thinking of the house I found Deserted, with its little cottonwoods Dying for water. Then I said to him, "I passed an empty house this afternoon, A few miles back along the road, and felt The power of these plains against a heart." "Jane Hastings lived there for a year," he said, "And then she left the place, just as it stands. One day last Spring. I'll tell you how it was. Two years ago she came to teach the school. And boarded here with us. Her folks were dead And we looked after her as best we could. She was a queer girl, pretty, full of life. But rather sullen. She would sit for hours, Beneath these trees, when she came home from school 2.y And look across the plains. My wife would say, "That girl needs love. She's not the kind to be Always alone." But no young men lived near And so her days were only work and dreams That were unrealized. At last she said She had decided to take up some land. I helped her fix it up and when her place Was ready she moved there and lived alone. We went to see her sometimes or she stopped To visit us when she came back from school. She talked about her plans to save enough From teaching and her homestead for a year In college, then she'd start her nervous talk Of gowns and dances, and her eyes would burn. Last Spring came early and she seemed to be More restless every day. When school was out She went into the city for a week. When she came back there was a bitterness About her that we had not known before. My wife said, "Either some one hurt her pride Or some young fool has loved her for a week And then forgot her kisses." For awhile We did not see her. Then we went one night To talk to her. There was a great full moon Over the plains and winds were sweet with scents Of growing grasses. Jane was lying down — Stretched out in her best dress upon the grass, Shaken with weeping. When she heard us there She rushed into the house and would not talk. 28 So we sat down upon the porch and waited As old folks can. She came out afterwhile And talked with us. My wife asked her to come And live with us again, but Jane refused, Although she thanked us. While I worked next day In that cornfield you see along the road, I saw some covered wagons — six of them As I remember. They stopped at the house. I saw the gipsy women go to beg, And I stood watching till I saw my wife Send them away. Then I went on with work. At noon my wife said, "If the gipsies stopped At Jane's house she'd be frightened. Better go And see that she's all right." And so I went. The gipsy caravan had stopped, I saw The smoke of little fires where they cooked. Women in bright dress walked about the place. As I drew near I saw a handsome fellow Talking to Jane. Her face was flushed. He held One of her hands, and while he talked to her Old women watched and cackled mirthlessly. I walked among them and called out to Jane. She turned and looked at me, and then she laughed. With one swift movement she pulled down her hair; It showered to her waist and caught the sun. She did not speak. Her eyes flashed out at me A challenge — and I saw her as she was !" 29 "The gipsy women laughed at me, the men Smoked quietly. I turned and went away," "Half way back home I turned about again, Hoping that I might win her senses back.. Before I reached the house the caravan Was starting on its way across the plains. I rode beside the wagons. In the third I saw Jane sitting at the driver's side. And they were talking, laughing, while the wind Sweet with the scents of growing grasses came To blow Jane's hair and hide her eyes from me." 30 I MADE YOU A SONG I made you a song of rain along the tree-tops In an old woodland that the World forgets, Then found that Spring had wandered to a hillside And written it in violets. I made you a song of an old, nameless longing Where you had walked the moon-mad sands with me. Then heard, above my heart, forever singing The vasty longing of the Sea. And now I make you but a song of loving, Of young blood thrilled and lips that touch and cling — Something the Spring cannot write out in flowers Nor waters of the Sea can sing . . . But with the violets upon the hillside This song of love may fade, in season die — Only is sure the old Sea's vasty longing. And yet 1 cannot tell you why ! 31 SONG FOR A GUITAR I gave you robes of rainbows And my Dreams' silver shoon, And sang to you of hill-roads That go to meet the Moon. And now you think the splendor Is all your own. You live Forgetful of the giving That gave you things to give. I have more robes of rainbows, And shoon for roads apart — But what if I had given To you my heart? 32 SONGS WHILE THE LEAVES ARE FALLING I. There is a slender tree that grows Beside a road where people pass ; Through it a wind that chills it goes And shakes its leaves upon the grass, And I, who watched these same leaves grdw All fresh and young, and Summer long Heard their young whispers and their song, Then saw their golden passage, know Two golden leaves are clinging now Upon one little twisted bough Half-hidden, and when winds are high Two rustUng golden banners fly, Tiny, but bright, against the gray Of troubled skies that care not how Leaves cling awhile or drift away. When will these golden banners come From their high place to join the dumb And driven throng that moves with Death? Each day I look with hurried breath. And wish that they might wave and cling To see the promise of the Spring. And O, my Heart, so you may hold Two Dreams that Life may turn to gold — When all my other dreams must pass Like leaves blown down upon the grass. 33 II. When once the bud has made the rose It cannot be the bud again — Its passion stirs, its glory grows Beyond its being then. So, Dream, since you the Real have made, You cannot be the dream and rest — For I have kissed her lips and laid My head upon her breast. III. The birds are flying to the South. Their calls drift down the skies. The song that trembled at my lips Falls pierced with doubt, and dies. The birds are flying South to trees With green leaves brightly spread . . . Shall all my singing dreams leave me When Youth is dead? IV. If I had choice to be a tree I would not be an evergreen, Living with peaceful certainty. Seeing the same boughs I had seen Since I had sprouted, always sure My greenery would still endure The change of seasons, never thrilled With rapturous leaves, while nothing killed 34 But slow, dull Age . . . O I would be Any kind of growing tree That knows the magic and the thrill Of glowing leaves, that frost can kill Only by turning them to gold. O I would stand with branches bold Braving the winds until again The benediction of warm rain Fell on the earth, and song came up From all my roots, and I could sup And dine with all the gods of Earth, And fear no death, grown wise in birth. V. The man may be the child again When Autumn winds in shadow moan. And the cold rains beat the window pane And a heart feels all alone. I will not bear this loneliness, This madness, this unrest — I shall go out and gently press The dead leaves to my breast. VI. What is this voice that calls Like a dream in the night, Bringing thoughts that are flushed All rosy-bright? 35 The voice says, "I am the Love That came in the Spring, And whispered until you Hved In my whispering. I am the Love that took The wrinkles from your brow." And I answer the voice in the night, "It is Autumn now. And I hear the whisper of leaves That fade, and silently The dark clouds pass ... Be gone — Or comfort me!" VII. Drunken fellows, all together Let us dance away, Gold leaf, yellow leaf. And leaf all crimson-gay, — We are drunken with the World That bids us on our way. Drunken fellows, all together Let us outward fare With a chuckling madness Through the frosted air — Now the World is through with us Show we do not care! 36 THE DREAMERS, 1917 War gnawed the bones of Nations; Hunger went Into the hearts and souls of people. Then The Dreamers called their tenderest Dreams and sent Them out to stay the carnage of brave men . . . Back to the Dreamers came the Dreams' lament, "O take your Swords, that we may live again ]" 37 O RESTLESS SPIRIT O restless Spirit, roaming toward the Sun And longing for the coolness of the dark, Or roaming in the shadows with a mark Set on the hills where Morning may be won ! You are the power that has moved each one Whose heart has met the morning with the lark Or gone alone to hells where move the stark And speechless Dreams, with dreaming never done. O restless Spirit that is mine, I seek Peace for you in the beauties of the world. Passing through pain to find them, still aware Something must go unfound until in bleak And final night my last of Life is hurled. Too wise for faith, too faithful for despair. 38 DEFEAT There is defeat where death gives anodyne And all desires of the battle wane In deep forgetfulness, and the one slain Lies with his face turned toward the firing-line. There is defeat where flesh fails the design Of Spirit, and the groping, tortured brain Sees glories lost it cannot win again And wears its self out like effect of wine. But no defeat is quite so imminent To common ways as the defeat Success Turns into when it puts aside the dreams That made it be, and, somehow, grows content With what it is, forever growing less Until it is not, and no longer seems. 39 CHAINS Why did you not hold me with chains Of steel all dull and cold That I might strain against their strength As long as they could hold? That I might see the links sink in My flesh and make blood flow, While I could hope to break my chains And hurl them down and go! But in these chains you hold me with Only my Spirit frets — For who could use brute force to break A chain of violets ! 40 THE SHIP WITHOUT A PORT The tropic island reached into the sea With lengths of land, here, there and everywhere, Stretched out like tendrils of an octopus. The place, for all its crowded trees and vines. Its flaming colors and its haunting calls, Was very lonely. In a narrow bay We found a village, and the negroes came With fruits to sell, and language understood. Since we had heard the English tongue, at times. Treated almost as badly in the States. The only white man in the place came down To visit us when he had heard our boat Was anchored in the bay. He had some land The negroes worked for him, but best of all. As we found out that afternoon, he had A tale to tell. The bay was very still. We sat upon the deck and watched the sea Taking siesta under canopies Of endless, throbbing blue. We saw a boat Draw near, with spread of sail that made our own Seem greater. Negroes waded out with fruit And water, and the ship turned out again, A white sail seeking silence as if driven By more than sleepy wind. The white man stirred After his eyes had followed it from sight. He said, "That is a ship without a port. 41 It sails about this island day by day, And month by month, and year by year, yet never Anchors for long, save when storms drive it in To some unhabited and desolate bay . . . A man and woman live upon that boat. It is their world, and like their boat they have No port of all the endless world of ports." "That sounds uncanny," said the mate, "The ship Gave me the shivers, and it seemed deserted Except for that lean gray man at the wheel." "The woman keeps from sight," our guest replied. "I have not seen her, when the ship was in. Since that day years ago, when she went out Upon its deck and waved a last goodbye To their unseen plantation in the hills." He paused and then continued with his talk, In monotone like one who has become A talker to himself in loneliness, "Bananas grow upon this island. Miles And miles of land beyond this bay were filled With trees. The man who sails that boat we saw Owned great plantations now gone back again To be the jungle. I was doctor then For the plantation, and I stay here now To treat the negroes, and live — in a way — Because there is no other place for me." 42 "The man was rich and kindly then. At first He Hved alone, and we would often sit The evening hours together . . , Then he grew Restless and morbid from the loneliness And started drinking heavily. He found That did not make things right, and so he went On a vacation, and when he returned A glowing woman came with him. He said They had been married on the Isthmus; so Their new life started, and I often felt Things were not well with them after a month. She roamed about the house as if it were A hateful cage, and she was like a leopard, Lithe, slender, full of color, full of fire. With devils and angels fighting in her eyes. She was a half-breed — Spanish — something else, And she was wine and fire and silk and hell All in a parcel shaped most beautifully To lure the eyes and make the heart go mad. The man, McGregor, (let me call him that) Was often gone on business. Then his wife Would wear her maddest gowns and drink her wine Until she lost what little sense she had To start with. So the trouble started off. McGregor's foreman was a half-breed, too. Spanish — and something else. Before he came To work on the plantation he had been The master of a trading ship that sailed Among the islands. He was young and full Of all that makes the Tropics. Handsome, too, But rather frail from fever, so he said. 43 Well, when McGregor was away this man Began to creep up to McGregor's house And spend a quiet night of it, I heard. I knew McGregor — ^knew that he would kill, And that, in spite of all their family fights, Would fight the Devil for her. And I knew His heart was in her power just as much As if it had been chained to her, to throw Into her veins the hot, strong blood of his. And, knowing this, I did not dare to tell McGregor what I knew. One day when rain Had started pounding on the island fields The foreman came to me. He said, 'I'm seek With fevair, Doctair, give me medeceen.' I looked him over. On his neck I found A spot that sent me from him, as from plague. 'You fool,' I cried, 'You have the leprosy.' He did not say a word. He left the house As if he had been stunned, and that same day, With words to no one, he had disappeared. "Then I thought of McGregor's wife and him. Well, it was hell 1 I knew what I should do. But feared to do it. So I took a chance. I thought things were all right, for weeks had passed And nothing happened at McGregor's house Except the usual things. I felt at ease. McGregor came one day and said, 'My wife Is not as well as usual, and her face Has queer marks on it.' 44 Then I lost my voice . . . I felt the cold sweat rush out over me, McGregor stared at me and said, 'You fool, If you are sober, come and fix her up/ "I went with him . . . She was a leper then. As best I could I told him. And she wept And moaned, and there her half-mad husband stood. All white and still, with struggles such as men May seldom know, within his heart. At last He said, 'That settles it. We go from here. If the authorities should find this out They'd send her to a colony.' I stared At him and pitied him, and, damn the woman, I could have strangled her in human hate.. "McGregor made plans, then he made more plans. The outcome of them was this ship you saw Sail out of silence back to silence ... So Two lepers live now in that ship that sails About this island day by day, and month By month, and year by year — a little ship From Nowhere bound for Nowhere until Death !" 45 SONGS WHILE THE FRUIT IS GROWING I. There is a dusty road that goes Among the farms, and all the day Its dust is stirred by loads of hay And brown bare feet, and no repose Comes with the gloom, for then the teams Go with the lovers into town, Or some young cavaliers of Dreams Drive only up the road or down. And down this road there is a brook, A wooded hill, and from the road A lane turns off as if it took Its way just to escape the load Of weary traffic, never done. As some impetuous, hopeful son Among these farms has turned away To seek for Beauty and the gay. Wild dreams that called him, while his kin Spoke of his going like a sin. Yet envied him, and seeing less Of him loved more his uselessness. II. We turned into the lane and heard The happy chatter of a bird Beside its nest, and far away We heard the creaking loads of hay Go on the road. About our feet Was uncut clover red and sweet, 46 And under willows, silver, cool. We saw skies mirrored in a pool — And there I wondered as I stood Why there was not more brotherhood Between Land-toil and Beauty . . . Sod Was warm and fragrant, and a god Had left the echoes of his reed Where willow leaves and thrushes heed. And then I heard down in the field. Where men toiled on with muscles steeled, A voice, hard for the struggle, say, "A rain would play hell with this hay." Things that are Beauty for one spoil Some other's work, and some one's toil Another's bit of Beauty mars ! Thank God, we still may keep the Stars! III. I saw a grown girl coming down The field with water for the men. Her hair fell golden in the wind. She stopped and bound it up again. Her thin dress by the wind was pressed (Was it in passion or in play?) Against the full growth of her breast . . . The men looked up. She looked away. 47 VI. You saw me staring at the girl And then you stared at me. Why did you come so close and kiss My lips so passionately? I would not have you quite so young, Or quite so shy as she. V. There is a strong young apple tree In growth-dreams hushed. Its many apples in the sun Have not yet blushed. And in this place off of the road May grow un found This fruit, for hard, cold winds to shake Down to the ground. Wasted the beauty, gone the dream It knew above! What if one time you had not found My love? VI. Was that a faun that stirred the grass To musky perfumes where we pass ? What pagan god has tuned the trees And sowed the seeds of sorceries? The red of clover haunts my eyes. The passion of the simlight flies 48 Into my being. Throbbing bees Are gathering honey as we go Through melodies all thrilled and low. I look at you and something grips My heart, and sun is on my lips. The sun is on your hair and breast, And in your eyes, and you have pressed The sunlight closer, till it burns And all the place to fire turns — I cannot see the clover's red Or green fruit growing overhead . . . Only I know with what strange power The bee creeps down into the flower In blinding passion, thrills and clings, Then leaves with sweetness on his wings. VII. I saw a little boy one day With berry stains upon his face Come back to heated streets and gray From some near country-place. And every one who saw the child Remembered many things, and smiled. You shake the sunbeams from your hair, And neatly bind it up again — And smile as if you did not care! Blame me for laughing then! "Hush, dear," you say, and try to frown When I would tease the splendor down. 49 THE VILLAGE OF THE DOVES The road went lazily along the hill And then dropped slowly into that small town We saw like patch-work in the valley, brown, And gray, with dull trees very squat and still. An old man peered at us. His window sill Was much the color of his face. A frown Turned to a smile, and then we settled down For him to smoke with us and talk at will. Three doves flew near. A dozen burros moped, Scorned by a mangy dog . . . No lovely face, And yet we sensed a Life that dreams and loves With browns and grays, where sandy streets had sloped For years to sand. I asked, "What is this place?" He said, "Senor, the Village of the Doves." 50 I HEARD A THRUSH WHEN TWILIGHT CAME I heard a thrush when twilight came Song of the woes it had not known — Of hearts that burned in rainbow flame, Of barren fields where seeds were sown. And then it sang of happy trees Where fruit is golden in the sun, Of raptures and of mysteries Through which the songs of seasons run. And I was sadder for the song Of rapture than the song of pain — For one lost gladness, gone so long. Came back and could not hurt again! 51 THE COLONEL'S LADY Outside the Colonel's house in Corozal Were many roses, and the neighbors said The thorns were on the inside. Very well The Colonel hid their scratches, and his wife. Ten years his junior, did almost as well. And he was like a steel trap, quick and bright, And set for action, but some ladies said That, on great provocation, he would drink More liquor than he needed, and without The slightest provocation he would smile Into a woman's eyes . . . Perhaps they knew. His wife was like a jungle flower that grew Too much in shade and lost its coloring At fullest bloom. The coloring she lacked In looks her bright imagination saved And made pink turn to purple. She had heard So much about the Tropics' wickedness That in her thoughts she saw that she was like A slim white lily growing in the center Of flaming passion flowers circled near. One lady, just a little worldly wise. Said that the Colonel took his wife one time When he was making New Year's resolutions — And that she was the only one he kept! Tongues wag like palm leaves in the tropic towns, But do more harm and are not half as bright. And gossip drifting to the Colonel's Lady, 52 As she was called by others envious Of her position, gave her many things To worry over, and the least of these Was not Juanita who had served them well For half a season. For Juanita's eyes Were like dark pools of water in the hills When twilight and the jungle fall in love . . . What chance had Manuel who often came To win Juanita with his soft guitar Perchance the Colonel even glanced at her? The Colonel's Lady watched with busy eyes. One night the Colonel touched Juanita's hand When she was pouring water. Was it chance Or was it but a sign agreed upon? The Colonel left the house for Panama To spend the night, he said, and then his wife Said to the girl, "Juanita, for tonight You sleep in my room and I sleep in yours." And, quite surprised, the girl obeyed so well The Colonel's Lady smiled in righteousness. Rain started pounding on the roof. The dark Came quickly after, and Juanita went Into the room with things she loved to touch. Soft pillows, and the laces soft as mist Above the little streams of Panama, And dreaming there of sudden wealth she slept. And in Juanita's room the Colonel's Lady 53 Let down her hair, and touched it with perfume That was Juanita's, then she robed herself In filmy nightdress, and upon a bed Not soft as she had hoped, she sat to wait As if she hoped some one would enter there And crush her cold lips, telling her of love. Rain pounded on the roof. She heard her heart Pound with the rain. She knew what she would do When he came in. She'd give him kiss for kiss — And then at last she'd turn on all the lights. And she would say, "Well, Colonel, can it be That you have lost your way in this small house?" She thrilled to think how it would worry him When she would gently speak about divorce . . . She heard soft footsteps through the rush of rain. They reached the door. They paused, and silently Chill of the rain's breath filled the opened door That softly closed. The room was warm and still. A raincoat rustled, then was put aside. Warm hands reached out to her, and, at the touch Of her, strong arms held close and hot lips held Her lips. She thought, through tumult in her brain, "The Colonel never kissed me so before." "Juanita," breathed a voice, and then she felt A terror that was quick and powerful. The voice that spoke was not her husband's voice. She screamed, and footsteps that she had not heard Before they reached the house, came pounding in 54 Across the porch, and then the door swung wide And Hghts flashed on . . . The Colonel glared at them. He saw his wife wild-eyed with fear and shame, And Manuel who stood near by and shook As with a chill from Chagre's poisoned swamps. "Well, I'll be damned," the Colonel said, "What's this? You yellow dog, what are you doing here? And you — " Cried Manuel, "Juanita's room! She marry me last week. We want you not To know for fear she have to leave this place. I tell her I not come tonight, but then I could not work for rain and came, and here Juanita is not. How am I to blame? The darkness, Senor! How was I to know?" The Colonel stared. The Colonel's Lady wept. And Manuel stood shaking as with chills. "Go," said the Colonel, "What's the use of talk?" And Manuel went out through pounding rain. The Colonel's Lady wept and tried to speak But had no time for words the Colonel went So quickly from the room when he had said, "You may live here until we are divorced." She heard his quick, strong footsteps leave the house And die away out in the pounding rain . . , 55 "SINCE YOUTH IS ALL FOR GLADNESS" Since Youth is all for gladness, And dreams and rainbow-skies, For rapture and moon-madness, Why are Youth's eyes so wise? Since Youth is all for vaunting Adventures, scorning fears — Is there not something haunting In Youth's incongruous tears? O Youth must bleed and measure The days and span the sea — But Age will keep for pleasure What Youth thought misery. 56 A MORNING ROAD SONG There are roads that lead to temples And the bells chime far away, And the white flames of the sunlight Throb upon the trappings gay . . . Would you follow to the temples Or turn off to Mandalay? There are roads that lead to silver And the crags shine hard and gray; Through the silence of the mountains Slowly pack-trains lurch and sway . . Would you find a mine of silver Or turn back to Monterey? Here's a road that leads to Somewhere And a voice has called today, And I hear the leaves like music — Where's the piper I must pay ? Here's a road that leads to Somewhere- And I'm going all the way ! 57 APPOINTMENTS I cannot dine with you today And hear how all your wealth does good, I have an appointment with a thrush That sings in a distant wood. I cannot dance with you tonight And hear your voice above each tune — I have an appointment with a wind That sings to greet the moon. 58 TO ONE BELOVED Because I willed to have it so I went last night where great trees grow, And under them I made a bed Of leaves and grasses, and my head Was pillowed on the ripened clover . . . It was beside a mountain stream Where laden branches, bending over. Make many patterns for a dream. And there before I slept I heard The leaves make melodies that stirred An answer in my heart, and soon New beauties flooded from the moon About that cool, calm place. To me Was given as to stream and grass and tree. And now I come this morning to the town With sunlight over me. As that stream from the heights goes down To give unto the Sea — I am as grass that has known touch of dew, I am as leaves the moonlight has shown through! This is the morning that I may express More understanding of your loveliness. 59 THE PRICE OF CORN The World was hungry and War gave the Earth Rich blood to drink in many lands. At home John Render had four fields; in three of these He planted corn, because the price was high. And when the sun had turned the corn to gold And miser winds shook it to hear it rattle, The farmer said, "The corn is ripe to husk." And as he spoke the price of corn went higher. Hard days he worked to bring the corn from field — Up in the dusk and home when dusk was starred! Two nights before he planned to have his com All husked his young wife told him that their child Was hot with fever. "It will pass," said John, And, weary with his work, forgot the child, Their first-born, now gaining the dignity Of walking upright as a man-child should. At noon next day while John wolfed down his food His wife asked him to go into their room To see the child who tossed about and listened To nothing that she said. John went with her And when he saw his little son he felt A moment's fear and said, "You'd better send To town and get the doctor." "But you know There's no one I can send. We are so far, 60 And every one is busy husking corn," Replied his wife, sharply, to hide her tears. "You go yourself. The corn that's left can wait A day or two," she added. With no word He took a horse and started out for town. Along the road the wind shook fields of corn, And John was angry that he could not be In his own field. Half way to town he met The doctor driving rapidly. They stopped, And when the doctor heard about the child He said, "Well, I am glad you did not wait Like Simon Miller did. I'm on my way To his house now. He was so wild with corn He did not come for me. Last night his wife Crept to the barn and got a horse and rode Like mad to town. And when I reached the farm Their child was dying. That's a price of corn Higher than he reckoned on." "My God," Shouted John Render, "hurry to my place." And as they went John paid the price of corn. 6i SONG I have loved the rainbows And the wild gusts of rain, And white ships in the dark storms, And leopard-women twain. I have loved the red dawns And waters deep and blue. And roads that burned with moonlight- How can I love you? 62 YOU ARE NOT OF A TIME OR PLACE You are not of a time or place. You are Not of a dream or of an incident. In all times and all places my heart went You followed. Still you follow . . . Not a star Are you to lead me in the dark, not far And proud with crown or empty sacrament. O could I find in nearness more content, could I grasp, or see, the things that bar! 1 touch you, as through bars, when my hot hand Touches a rose in darkness, I have kissed Your lips on other lips that came between Our lips a moment after. When I stand Looking in lovely eyes, as through warm mist, I see your eyes — then ache that I have seen. 63 SONGS AFTER THE WAR I. I shall remember the bugles Though no more calls may be. For they are part of my being, Sounding reveille. If ever I shun the morrow, If ever my banners fall, Shrill in my dreams at morning. Call, O Bugles, call ! II. I have seen the sharp pain In the eyes that see no more, I have seen the torn limbs That are no longer sore — And I have seen the gold stars With silence at the door. I have seen a man's smile When Death was in his eyes, I have heard the quick breath And the last goodbyes. And I have wept to know them With tears like battle-cries! But O, such pain is blessed. And O, such loss is gain. And such death is like living When men are men again ! . . . 64 But, Lord of Nations, tell us That Wars no more remain! III. A bird is singing in the dusk That smells of distant rain. The stirred grass gives a scent of musk — O Heart now sing again ! "What shall I sing?" (The voice is sad) "Of men who had to die. Of maidens ravished, wives gone mad.'"' Be still, my Heart, I cry! IV. You make me weary with your chatter About the things your Soul will do When you are dead. What will it matter If all the words you say are true? You have life now but are not growing — If you had wings you would not fly! If Life has little worth the knowing You may find less when you must die. For me, I'll take what Life is giving. Earth-born, I gladly sing of birth Till all my body, worn with living. Sleeps — and is still a part of Earth ! V. I think I shall not go today To strive with any one. 65 I'll drink, on hill-roads far away, The golden wine of Sun. And maple leaves, like dancing girls, Will shake their silver shoon, And weeping willows toss their curls. And whisper of the Moon. And I shall watch and drink my best And dream, and wink at Mirth, Till giddy, drunk, I clasp the breast Of many-passioned Earth. The warmth that blushed the slim wild rose Earth's great breast lifts to me — When my cold body seeks repose How different it will be! VI. Ah, men are building strong and high These days, — for dreams remain! And here I sit and wonder why Old Tom is drunk again! Ah, women have new looms to try And love is still as sweet. And here I sit while passes by A girl who walks the street! Ah, Life is building just the same As Life built ages past — The towers strong, the rainbow flame. The quick leaves for the blast! 66 THE MURDERER GOD SENTENCED The leaves were falling and winds came and went, Slow shuttles weaving red and gold and brown Into the stuff of Dreams. Along the lane I met an old man coming home from town. His face was like a yellow leaf that long Had known the touch of rain, but when he spoke His voice was like a lively autumn wind. We talked awhile and smoked our pipes. I asked, "How did you come to stay so long in town?" He shifted some small bundles that he held And said, "There was a hanging. One who killed Was killed by Justice in the Courthouse yard." Before I had a question he went on Speaking in that same liveliness of winds, "But never have I seen a murderer Sentenced as justly as the one I know God sentenced in this region years ago. I shall not name him, but when I was young I worked for him and knew him very well. He owned a farm and was the greediest And meanest man that I have ever known. Flax was his pet crop and he built great bins To store it in and boasted of his wealth, And hired half-wits from the county farm To keep the price of labor down. One day One of them slipped into a half-filled bin And shouted, and each crazy move he made Lowered him deeper, and his struggles took 67 Him from the bin's edge to its center. There He sank. I got an axe and started in To chop an opening to let the flax Out on the barn floor. Then the farmer rushed At me and struck me." "Will you spoil the work Of days," he shouted, "for a half-wit? Go About your business. I know of a way To get him out." Later we lowered planks To make a platform in the bin and groped About with grappling hooks and after while We pulled the fellow out. Due the delay To save the flax bin not a breath was left In his poor body. Well, that flax was sold And a new crop came in to fill the bins." "When they were partly filled the farmer climbed Up on the edge to see the flax. He stooped. So we supposed, to test the flax and fell. Just as the half-wit fell, into the bin. He cried for help. I found him mad with fear Threshing about, out in the bin with flax Up to his neck. "Cut down the bin," he screamed. And when I came back with the axe I heard No sound from him, and worked like mad to cut An opening. Out flooded slimy flax Until the floor was covered, and at last We pulled him out. He found his breath and moaned, 68 But he was crazed. He died, some years ago, As simple-minded as the half-wit killed To save a few days labor on the flax." "Well, dusk is coming. I must hurry home," He said, and rattled off among the leaves. 69 THE DANCE There's a Charity dance in the town tonight — For the poor five thousand miles from town! And Httle Meg Wynne with her eyes so bright Has bartered her Soul for a silken gown To wear to the dance, for she sighed and cried Over her rags for fear that her pride Would be hurt if she went in a garb less fair Than that of the Ladies who would be there. O there will be laughter and floods of light — There's a Charity dance in the town tonight! There's a Charity dance in the town tonight, Far from the alleys that starve in the town, To feed the starvelings far from the sight — And little Meg Wynne in her silken gown Will smile her brightest and hardly care For the proud old Ladies who fret and stare And whisper and wait for a time to say, "I don't see how they dress that way!" And ho ! The music frets in the air — There's a dance — ^but Charity is not there! 70 A PIPE SMOKER TO A COQUETTE I smoke my pipe . . . If I loved you I'd fill My heart with you as my pipe's ruddy bowl Is filled with good tobacco. I would will That there be fire then. My breath's control Would draw the sweetness from you, and your soul (If you have one) would burn. (You must allow Me this one fancy). Go now and console Yourself you are not ashes Uke these now Knocked from my pipe for careless winds to blow Since I am through with them. And even so As now I fill my pipe again I'd fill My heart again . . . The night is very still. If it were not for stars I'd think of rain . . . Ah, bless you, Good Pipe, we're alone again ! 71 AUTUMN NOCTURNE The restlessness of dying things Is in the night. Only the moon-mad cricket sings, And cold and white The Moon shines through the trees. And we go through Maze of Earth-Mysteries. I turn to you For love and hope, and wistfully You turn to me. The restlessness of things that pass Is in the air. O once we touched this stricken grass Now everywhere Fades the old miracle. So it shall be When Death takes toll, as well. Of you or me. We shall seek glories dreamed again And seek in vain. 72 FOLLOW THE CROWS The crows were flying to the south Of Samuel Miller's land Where on a marsh with grasses tall The crowded willows stand. We went to Samuel Miller's house And on the door we read The writing sprawling wide and bold — "Follow the Crows," it said! For twenty years he lived alone And went his secret way — And why he left or where he went Not one of us could say. The writing found upon the door Was not like his we knew; But no one knew just what to think Or thought just what to do. And Mary Waldron, when she died Bearing a nameless child. Thought of our tales, and screamed all night With voice grown loud and wild. "Follow the Crows," she screamed that night, And nothing more she said. We knew that she had heard us talk — We pitied her when dead! 73 And later on, for lack of work, Near one chill evening's close We read the writing on the door And followed then the crows. The crows were flying to the south Of Samuel Miller's land. We reached the marsh with grasses tall Where crowded willows stand. And on a spot among the trees The crows flocked all around; They rose with caws and heavy wings. The wood took up the sound. The grass was dying of the frost, And with the grass and stones We saw, before we turned away, A body's half-picked bones. 74 SONGS WHILE THE FIRST SNOW FALLS I. I know a field that Summer long Had struggled with the drouth; and grain, That promised much when Spring was strong And beautiful with sun or rain, Drooped in the heat of burning noon. Then dwarfed and browned it struggled still To grow, but when the Harvest Moon Came there the grain had failed its will. And chaff was blown and stalks at last Were broken where the winds had passed. O then I saw the first snow fall Upon that field and cover all The chaff and broken stalks. The skies Poured sunlight on the snow, and eyes Were strained with brightness for a day — And when the snow had gone away. Across that field that failed its dream, Among the broken stalks a gleam Of fresh green came ... A little while To dream again, and, dreaming, smile! That was a year ago . . . And then A new Spring sowed that field again, A golden season came! But, O, Is there a Sower who may sow In hearts again? What seeds are these Now falling white among the trees? 75 II. The first who walks new-fallen snow Must show the way he chose to go, But when a thousand feet have passed — Then who the First or Last may know? III. O heart that beats so restlessly, Burning with Life, the slow Sure fire that consumes you, flee Out to the falling snow. Grow calm again, and greatly stilled Take cool balm from above. My heart replies, "If I grow chilled What shall you do for Love?" IV. O it was very long ago That hearts learned language of the snow The snow was falling through the trees — The King was old and ill at ease, And he was weary of his crown. The Fool was sick of cap and bells. Then said the King, as he looked down From his bright throne, "O Fool, my gown Of gold put on. The blown snow tells My heart of tombs, and I would be A jester for this hour and see Your splendor in my place of State." And so the wise Fool played the King, 76 And so the old King played the Fool. Then came great tumult at the gate Before the palace, and the ring Of steel on steel. There was a pool Of blood upon each stair and hall. The Fool who played the King then came Down from his throne with eyes of flame. And with his sword he met the foe And struck the knights who faced him low And won the fight. The King who played The Fool in shadow sat and prayed With fear upon his face, until The foe had fled and halls were still. And then he heard his warriors sing, "Long Uve the King ! Long live the King !" V. My heart has glowed with rainbows, My feet have warmed the clods; I know the wind has spoken When the willow nods. But now the snow is falling — I have not had my fill Of hill-blooms and of rainbows And roads across the hill. Whiteness and chill and silence — The devil take the three! When snow has covered my love Then it may cover me! 77 VI. What shall I tell my old Love? Ah, yes! At last I know — "Your love was like a garden All cold and still with snow. You told me that when Spring came The golden fruit would grow." What shall I tell my new Love? Only this I'll say, "My heart was chilled and hungry And Spring was far away — Your love was like a thrilled house Where Summer came to stay." 78 SEEDS OF THE THISTLE George Martin had the finest yard in town. For years his care had made it smooth and green. He had the freshest grass, and earUest flowers And latest flowers at their loveUest. Next to his yard, upon the right, the grounds Of WilHam Pearson were without a weed — As if they profited by good example. But in the corner lot near Pearson's grew Grass in a battle with all sorts of weeds. John Hepple, working in the mills by day, Was much too busy after work to help The grass win over weeds, for he would sit For hours cursing men who gave him work. And told all men who cared to hear him talk How he would change things if he had a chance. And while he talked the weeds gained victories Over the grass, and from the winds came down Seeds of the thistle, and they settled there In Hepple's yard to grow; for there all things Had equal right to strive and grow or die. Hepple had led a strike that closed the mills And many hungry people in the town At last turned on him, and he went away And left the thistles growing in his yard. Martin and Pearson met one afternoon Upon the street by Hepple's yard. They stood 79 And looked about the place and frowned at it. Said Pearson, "We should have these weeds cut down And burned before they come to seed again." "It is not our affair," said Martin then, "We keep our own yards. Let him do the same. That is a brand for Hepple in this town." And so they walked away and each day gave The thistles bloom that was the hope of seeds. The leaves were falling — multicolored dreams The trees could keep no longer, and the winds — Ah, were they playful or but careless, strong, And mad with power driving dead leaves down The streets those leaves had shaded? Martin went One afternoon to gather up the leaves Piled in a far, still corner of his yard. He bowed to gather leaves, and then he looked Hard at his hand, then stared hard at the ground. Pearson, who wandered down to watch his friend, Heard Martin talking to himself. "What's up?" He called across the yard, and Martin raised His angry eyes, and angry voice, and said, "Thistles. A small one, just above the grass. Stuck in my fingers as I picked the leaves. Damn Hepple and his thistles! Now I'll go 80 And cut his thistles down, or they will be Scattered all over town." And Pearson said, "It's rather late now for the job, but still I'll go to help you." But another year Many young thistles lifted in the grass Of many yards, and some men dug them out- And others left the thistles go to seed. A YOUNG GIRL FLEES THE COMING STORM A young girl flees the coming storm. Winds lift her swirling dress; They clutch at her as if to bare Her breast's soft loveliness. She is afraid, and flees the storm That spreads its net above — And though Love is far mightier She will not flee from Love! 82 WINDS THAT HAVE MOVED THE FRIENDLY TREES, 1917 Winds, that have moved the friendly trees to speak, With lyric voices, to us when we went — How long ago it seems — down roads to seek New gladness and new dreams and wonderment. When Spring comes back you will not find us there, And will not miss us, and the grass will grow And bluebirds sing and Earth-life thrill the air As one glad Spring ago. In our mid- Western lands some one shall sow . . Sunlight and starlight and the quiet rains Shall fall on peaceful fields that shall not know How blood is spilled on battered hills and plains Across the seas. Homes shall keep Liberty — Although the olden happiness gives place To thoughtful hopes and faith like comes to be In each loved absent face. The moonlight shall look in on places strange To tears, and tears shall glisten, but the Night Shall hold no driving foes. No bitter change Of hosts that ravish waits the coming light. The Light of Dawn ! . . . What broken homes are these ? What hearts by strife and sorrow stricken dumb? What pitted fields ? What mangled, helpless trees ? . . , O bleeding France, we come! 83 LONESOMENESS When I was on the old farm I heard the City call, I saw its lights in dreams then, Its towers bright and tall ! I heard its silks that rustled, I saw its eyes that gleamed With all the hopes of all things That I had ever dreamed. Then I went to the City — And many nights of rain I laid and wept for kind leaves To touch my window pane ! 84 A FAREWELL Farewell, Spring, and at your going Know that no one can forget Days of magic, dawn winds blowing Leaf and grass and violet, Days of dreaming, days of sowing — No one can forget ! Farewell, Spring. The cloud-ships waken With the winds. O take my heart Down the sky-seas you have taken Now that you at last depart. There are dreams you leave forsaken — Take, O take my heart ! 85 THE GRAVE I knew that they had not forgotten me — Although it's many a day Since footsteps passed this way. I have heard the leaves of the maple tree Grow, then fall in death upon my mound Here at the edge of the garden ground. Long did I work upon these fertile hills And all the ground had known The will of my sinew and bone Before I died. All this fulfills Promise I made myself while my children grew To take my place, to dig and hew. I knew that they had not forgotten me — One of my sons is here Now in the Spring of the year. With blooms or the roots of a budding tree . . . The footsteps sound like Caspar's, very slow And sturdy — like he used to hoe. I knew that they had not forgotten me — It's Caspar . . . His spade is keen. He digs my mound that is green . . . God, he is planting parsley! Why won't they let me rest now my work is done? Well, Caspar was always a thrifty son! 86 THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT GO TO WAR The man who would not go to war was young. His strength was known through all the neighboring farms — And yet, he would not heed his Nation's call. He worked upon the farm that was the pride Of that locality. He told each one Who spoke of war that he would keep his place Till he was forced to go. When work was done He roamed about the farm, and in his eyes Was love of rich land and its fruitfulness. And still he did not seem to love the Flag That had made sure his young prosperity. He sat at night and thought of level fields. Of grain that turned to gold beneath the sun. While other men went forth to fight and die. His father, who had faced a firing-line, Was half ashamed of him. He told his son, "Your younger brother can stay here and help Upon the farm. Even your sister knows Enough to help me well enough that you Can go to war, and still the farm will be As good as ever." But the son replied, "I love this land." "But not enough to fight For it," his father shouted angrily . . . 87 The man who would not go to war was tired. Early he went to bed, and thought awhile Of crops he planted, then in troubled sleep War came to him. In dreams he saw a host Of strangers on the sky Hne. Rifles cracked And red death fell on his beloved fields. Land that his father gained from wilderness Was plowed with shells. And in his dream he saw His father, with his gray head bared to Death, Stand on his door step with his Country's flag Waving defiance. Then his father fell And the flag fell across his silent breast. The house leaped into flame. His sister rushed Out of the door and raised the flag again. She fell and over her the flag. He saw A flash of fire from the doorway. There His brother stood firing as steadily As those who faced him. From behind him came His mother — and again the flag was raised . . . And madly in the dream he broke the chains That seemed to hold him and cried out in sleep A battle-cry that echoed through the house. His brother wakened and called out to him, "What is the matter with you?" "Go to sleep," He answered him, "I'll tell you in the morning." And in the morning he left for town, With fire in his eyes, to volunteer. 88 DEWDROPS The dewdrops are the tears of Stars that weep For gladness, hearing from some crystal spheres Such harmonies as take from olden tears The bitterness of Oceans that made deep Each tear that marked an Age's cheek ere Sleep Came to the Age and turned its dreams to years Of growing beauty and of dying fears For a new Age that on the Quest should keep. Or are the dewdrops tears the Stars let fall Because the Ages blunder and are long To find the way where sad tears may not be? Because so many hearts have heard the call Of pipes in star-lanes, and with answering song Crept near the Stars — and stopped on Calvary? 89 SONG You ask me sometimes, "Do you love me?" I answer, "Yes — my heart still beats." You ask me sometimes, "Do I please you?" I answer, "Yes — the sun still meets With my approval." Then you smile — As if you knew it all the while! 90 I HAD FORGOTTEN I had forgotten, so it seems, The dear companionship of Dreams, A Uttle while — I heard old lies Then saw the true dreams of your eyes. I had forgotten — Ah, but then I never can forget again! A little while — how soon it seems Life comes and goes, then lives in Dreams! 91 CHRISTMAS EVE, 1917 I bring no wreaths of holly to the shrine I keep for you within the troubled days ; No mistletoe I bring; no crown of bays. Instead I bring dreams that are yours and mine, And will fight for them, I take no wine Of quick desires and of sweet delays Of fancy wreathing mists near hell that sways With might of conflict on each firing line. And yet — and yet I dream of other nights When hand in hand we watched the fire glow. How red the days, how long and brave since then ! And so I face the morrow for the rights Of firesides that love like ours may know. Fostered by Peace and the good will of Men, 92 THE DESERT AND THE SEA I love the Desert with its glow Of lights unreal, its far Flung colors of the dawn, its slow Still passion in a star. I love the sea with depth of blues. Its waves pearl-crested cast Upon bright sands, its changing hues Where winds or ships have passed. But have you seen a storm come down. Swirled sand and crashing wind Upon the desert, leaving brown And gray still things behind? And have you seen a storm that slashed The smooth breast of the sea And freed a thing that writhed and dashed In mad immensity? The desert's rainbows, and its gray. The sea's wrath, and its blue — Here on my heart is marked the way I came in loving you. 93 SONG Would you go in chariot Of golden cloud, Milady? Or are you happy that we go Where the gods and grasses know That we kiss where nooks are shady On the road to Singing Water? Many shady nooks there are. Heigh-ho! Dawn's Daughter! 94 MARGARITA I found her walking where the yuccas sway To winds from ranges of the stars that bring Desires for all things of which they sing And quick belief in all words they say. Her lips were like red flowers on the way To clear spring water, and there seemed to cling About her breast a warmth of sun like Spring Gives to a bud that blossoms in a day. She said, "Senor, you have been far from here And know so many things I do not know Of Life and Love. Tell me, or I shall weep, Must I wed one whose house is very near Although his kisses leave me cold as snow. When one long absent kisses me in sleep?" 95 THE LOQUACIOUS OUTLAW You should be flattered to be robbed so frankly. But I suppose you think my method crude, Not in accord with all the best traditions That you respect. I understand you came To rob not one but many, in this place, By your well-named and carefully worked out Investment. Keep your hands up! That is good. You see, I am not blessed with all your wits. I rob one at a time and take my chance. While you are clever. You can rob a widow And make her think that she is given cause For gratitude to you. In other words. You rob within the Law and I without. For I am frank by nature. I was once A rising politician, but I failed At that because — Keep up your hands, I say! These crisp bills which I gladly take from you No doubt came to you by no honest means. And since I do not know from whence they came I keep them, with regrets, for my own use. I must apologize because I take Your wallet in this fashion. Had I time To think out schemes I might have pleased you more By selling you some stocks I bought from you. Keep up your hands ! Your memory grows weak . . . I know that you are used to shaking hands. There are so many ways of robbing one. That, after observation, I have come 96 To think my way is best. You know, it leaves One no delusions . . . There was once a man Who bought land from you — bad land, brush and stones — Where you had vowed to let the water in And make the garden spot of all the world. He had three thousand dollars to his name — You talked four thousand dollars out of him, And knew you lied, and then forgot him. Well, That man had wife and child, who went with him Upon that land. Your promised water failed Him in his need. He had delusions still . . . That's the unfair part of your robbery! He starved on that land with his wife and child For three years, went through hell, came out again And shut the gates. Then, desperate, he drilled At his expense, with money born of blood. For water — and struck oil . . , He lost his wife About the time he found the oil. She died From overwork and misery. The child Died shortly after, and the oil flowed up With riches from that cursed ground. The man Sold out for a good fortune — which he spent Trying to heal a broken heart . . . Now go — And keep your hands up till you find the turn In this road to your right. Again I say I think I steal the better; just because I rob no one but thieves. Keep up your hands ! 97 TO THE NIGHT WIND I. O I have heard you, Night Wind, when the Spring Was waking in a night of crowded stars, Singing such songs as make the World's heart sing, And as you sang it seemed the earth's old scars Were covered with new grasses and with dew ; And nothing ached save with the sweet desire Of love and growth that is forever new. With dreams that build the soul's white altar fire. O Night Wind, let my heart in Springtime be To you as grasses growing and as blooms. While past the crowded stars God watches me, let it keep the stillness and perfumes. And make it glad as wild seeds that break through The hardened mold to starlight and the dew. II. And, Night Wind, when the grain was like the sea Of rippled gold beneath the summer moon. Oft I have heard you singing tenderly. And as you sang I heard a mother croon ; 1 heard the under-songs of streams that fed The roots of roses, and your singing told How the wild buds burst into flowers red, And how the grain was turned to living gold. O Night Wind, let my heart in Summer be To you as grain that ripens and as fruit 98 That waits a little longer on the tree That still has life that thrills in branch and root. And make it fearless as the things that know They give but payment for their right to grow. III. And, O Night Wind, when leaves were drifting down, And the great, wide-eyed moon was full of dreams, When all the harvest fields were hushed and brown. And mists hung listless over meadow streams, Oft I have heard you chanting till the night Was like a temple where the heart could rest, Where all things that had sought and found the Light Were called again unto the mother-breast. O Night Wind, let my heart in Autumn be To you as leaves that give their all and go, As harvest fields where naught is left to see. Because their grain was reaped, but let me know Some heart is fuller for the gift mine gave, Some soul is braver that my soul is brave. IV. O Night Wind, let my heart be like all things That mortal are, but let my soul arise With you and go upon untiring wings As you go, singing, bold and free and wise Yet tender as you are, and full of might. Through changing seasons with their changeless end. To all the hearts that listen in the night To sing their dreams, to urge them, and befriend. 99 And, sometimes, I would give myself to storm And scatter fears among the hearts that feed On other hearts eager and true, and warm With love of life for which they oft must bleed. But O, how I would sing when seeds broke through The hardened mold to starlight and the dew ! lOO CAMOUFLAGE When brother John came back from War he made Believe that he was bhnd, to fool his wife. He wore black glasses all the time and had Someone to guide him and to read to him. He told me all about it when his wife Knew that his eyes were cured. And he had been Pretending treatment for his blindness, too, And did it very well. His eyes were sore When he came home and that gave him the plan Of playing blind. He said that he had doubted His wife to some extent before he left, And wondered how she looked and acted since She thought his eyes were useless. She had been Raised in the city, as you know, and found Life in a small town rather dull. She took More pleasure, than he liked, in wearing clothes A trifle show-like, and her cheeks at times Were touched with rouge. His friends would talk to her With just a little more of enjoyment Than he found pleasing. So he went to War With some vague doubts, although he never spoke To her about her ways. You know he is A rather sober, grim young man . . . Folks wondered That he had married such a charming girl. Well, as I said, when he came back from War He made believe that he was blind. His wife lOI Cried over him and made a child of him And since no money-matters troubled them She did her best to make him happy. Now The two of them work overtime to make The big house full of happiness. He saw. The first day he came back, that she was dressed In plainer clothes and that her cheeks were pale. One day she wore a new dress plainer still Than were the others, but she seemed to look Better in plain things. He came back one day With his attendant, from a near-by town. Took his black glasses off, and told his wife His eyes were cured. And she was wild with joy . That night she said, "John, have you noticed that I do not look so girUsh any more? You used to say you loved the silly things I wore when you first knew me. Look at me. And tell me if you think I look too old. I always liked plain things, but they cost more Than other kinds and I could not afford To buy them until we were married, then I was afraid you'd think I looked too old — And kept on wearing things I did not like Because you liked them. When you came home blind I did not think about the change, but now I know you'll notice — and you'll think I'm old And then you will not love me." There were tears In eyes and voice, he said, with him at loss I02 Whether to laugh or cry. "Dear girl," he said, "Wear anything that pleases you and that Will please me. Now let's talk a little while About that word that puzzles you. It comes From France and is called Camouflage. It means- 103 THE LARK AND THE GUINEA HENS Some guinea hens that wandered far afield Came to a lark resting upon a reed. "What do you do?" they chattered at the lark. The lark replied, "I sing." The guinea hens Laughed loud at this, and one said to the lark, "We never heard you sing. Account for that!" Replied the lark, "I sing near gates of blue That open on the vales of Paradise When Morning comes with flowers in her hair. If you knew how to listen you could hear." Again the guinea hens laughed loud. They cried, "That is a poor excuse. Sing if you can And we shall listen." So the lark arose Happy to get away from them, and sang Up, up into blue-flowered fields of Sky. "He hid behind that tree," the guinea hens Screeched to each other, well pleased with themselves. They made such noise they could not hear the song And were quite sure the lark had lied to them . . . And, out of sight in vasts beyond their thoughts, The lark sang— and forgot the guinea hens ! 104 iiiSmSii?'' ^°^°'^^ss 015 906 621 6