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Class ( ^ t^ J AD MATREM L, November, 191 5 CONTENTS En Passant 9 The Garden 9 Old Apple Trees lo The Fire lo Arabesques II Tide Rock 12 Succory 12 Szveet-Bay 13 Shadow 13 Talisman 14 The Mother I4 Across the Marsh 15 Music at Night 15 For Remembrance 16 The Head-Land 17 Moonrise 18 Wings 18 The Intruder 19 The Flower 19 That Day 20 The Name 20 Her Anger 21 Nightingales in Exile 22 War 23 Interned 23 The Kite 24 Escape 24 Interlude 25 From a Spanish Sketch Book The Road to Granada 27 Romance 27 Chapel Royal 28 Seville 29 Padre 29 Lola 30 Dolores 30 Traveller's Joy 31 The Mountain Ascent 32 Summit 33 Dark 34 The Song of the Canoe 35 In the Highlands 37 Upland Acres 38 The Rain 39 The Lost Trail 40 Shadow Time 41 Roadside Rest 42 The Scent 0' Pine 43 The Thrush 44 In the Arena 45 A Street Cry 46 The Gleam 47 Come Buy 48 Even-Songs 49 Captives 50 Rencontre 50 Fog in the City 51 Street Song 51 Decoration Day 52 The Sea Wind 53 Trees in the Park 54 Paraclete 54 Alle Seelen 55 Eroica 56 Knighted 57 The Secret Children 58 Day^s End 59 Pipes of Pan 60 An Old Song 61 The Happy Spirit 62 The Blue Divide 62 To-Morrow 63 The Weaver 63 Postscript 64 APOLOGIA What will they be to you, My little carven words? My Treasure of deep seas! My Dust of Kings! My Wonderful! Set in the straight rozvs, Line by line, Dull changelings all! — They do not tell you anything; They will not shine or sing; And you will read. Not see and hear. If you found upon your garden path The fragile shards of an egg shell Would that give you the bird? Or zvhen the tvind Scatters before your feet The white petals of a shaken rose^ Can you reconstruct the flower? A blossom broken in the wind, A crushed shell, What have they to do With rapture of song and flight With color and fragrance And life? EN PASSANT It is white As the heart of a sun-bleached shell, The little room, And when at night the lamp is lit It glows like a flower; It is then I like it best. Looking in as I pass through the rain: The white walls, The table and the chairs. The little print above the chimney piece: One would grow quiet here I think, And dream sweet thoughts And face old age and death With courage undismayed. THE GARDEN All the repressed years, all the meager days, All the denials, all the frustrate joys. The frosted .loves, the unreckoned dreams, They have been gathered like a harvest, Their color and their fragrance All distilled And pour'd upon this ground Like wine. O holly-hocks, rose and ruby. Lupin and larkspur, sea-blue, calm as the sky. Scarlet sage and golden nameless things, Do ye know the vats that bred you? Or what vintage ye are of .^ OLD APPLE TREES I like the gnarled apple trees And the worn low house: They have grown old together And like understanding friends, Beyond necessity of speech, They keep a happy silence. Even in blossom time They are not young; The pink and white On the old boughs Is only afterglow; And the lilies By the sagging gate — Lavender among lush leaves — Are like the pattern On old plates, The treasure of spice scented cupboards With white doors. THE FIRE Here at the margin of the twilit earth I heap the wood, clean with the sea And dried with many suns, And kindle the valiant flame. Undaunted by the darkness of two worlds. O, brave its little challenge to the stars !- Fearless it laughs above the sheer abyss, A shining kinship to all suns that are: As though a soul enkindled by the Spark, Unquenched by darkness, Undismayed by space. Should flame its Credo to Infinity. lo ARABESQUES When there is no sun And the morning is heavy with rain, The sea seems Uke burnished steel, And the sails, Far off and faint, Like the worn arabesques Of a rune On an ancient battle shield. II I heard the rain on the roof,: Like idle fingers it seemed Thrumming a formless tune: Without sequence. Without beginning or change Or end : And I thought what if the tune took shape And fell into rhythm And sang: Could men listen And not go mad ? Ill Over the hill, Hand-like a cloud reached up. And grasped the sun; (Did God forgetful let it slip so low?) And then it seemed the greedy fingers Dripped with gold. That spattered down the sky. II TIDE ROCK The other rocks crouch huddled up the shore Bleached in the sun and safe, And bare and dead; But one has dared To creep down to the tide-line And to take The buffet of each idle wave Upon its patient cheek, And to be drowned, deserted, And then buffeted again. See how the sea-weed Has begun to twist itself upon it Like a crown. SUCCORY Flower that brings the color Of the sea To the sad need of vacant city lots Parched in the sun; Flower that is the joy of wistful Prison'd folk; Herb of grace. What do you here Along the harbor wall. Where the white shingle Dips like a bosom For the weary sea? 12 SWEET-BAY In the sun-smitten field Arid and parched The grass is almost white As bones bleached And dry on the sand. All the long day the heat Drugs it to silence: But see how the sweet-bay Makes a pool, So green, so dark, That one peering into it Might see his face Reflected far down, Like a leaf floating on still water. SHADOW Of a sudden all the light grew old : And the sun Like a weary and spent flame Paled in the wan blue. The very trees shivered and drew their branches close, And here on the roadside The flowers stared With haggard eyes. Was it then that some one In a little white house at the foot of the hill Pulled down a shade And said 'He is dead','' 13 TALISMAN I will take the azure of the sea today And lay it on my soul Like a patina; And over its blue. Spread the shadow of the green On this sun filled head-land: And the faint lilac of the fluted wave, And of the little shadows of the sand; And they shall merge and mingle, Melt and fuse. Until they are a jewel God will lock away, Too beautiful for earthly wear. THE MOTHER On the dim beach, Watching the sea, I saw a woman stand with blowing skirts, A child beside her. The waves came almost to their feet: And hissed and gleamed Like some white-fanged and hungry beast. Some beautiful untamed and fatal thing. And when the child leaned down and laughed The woman caught her up And crushed her close. And sped across the gray sands To a lighted door. 14 ACROSS THE MARSH When the heat spins a veil Over the face of the noon, Then the gray Httle town Across the marshland, And the harbor arm ^|Above its empty wharves And idle masts, Grows faint and tenuous, Spectral and dim, Like a picture Fading on a wall Of a forgotten room. MUSIC AT NIGHT It is as though you opened your window And threw into the night HandfuUs of diamonds, Hard, shining little stones That fell Like pebbles under my feet; Or scattered in the warm dusk Rose petals, Crimson and white. Scented and cool. Soft as rain; When I pass your house And hear you playing. IS FOR REMEMBRANCE The gasping marsh forsaken by the tide Remembers still the sea; All lover-like he came And laid a spent and weary cheek Upon her waiting breast, A brief and blessed hour, As for her comforting. Look where the sea once laid his lips Blue of his blue and gray as tears, The flower of remembrance, Rosemary. i6 THE HEAD-LAND The head-land is a Sphinx, And to her feet Creep all the legions of the sea, Each with his question, Asked and asked again But still unanswered. Ah, the cry, The protest Of each baffled wave That still must ask and be denied! Some day, her granite lips Will speak; And then the sea will come no more To cry before her carven feet, And she will crumble like a ruined shrine Deserted; Since she has spoken And a Sphinx no more. 17 MOONRISE It is white and shadowless As a pearl, The moon tonight; It leans upon us Like a watching face, White, white! It will not soften into tears, Or flush, or change, For all it sees; The pity was washed out of it When it grew wise and white And dead. WINGS Moth wings fluttering in the dusk Soft and blind, So futile, yet so sure. I watch you wondering. Shall I pity you .'' Little ships that drift Without lights And rudderless; Or envy you As something winged and free? Is it flight Or — escape .'' Little wings In the dusk! i8 THE INTRUDER Here in this little room The lamps are lit; And the fire Is like a red lily In a dark bowl; It is so bright, so still, so safe, One lays aside the last defence And the sword Is sheathed! I will turn the pages of old dreams Like a book of forgotten songs — Why should the moonlight Like a spent wave Lie white upon the threshold Of my open door? THE FLOWER There is a garden eastward Where each day A mighty flower blooms and blows; Petal by petal, Opening its golden heart. And then it pales And fades Until at last A hand out reaches from the west And gathers it. 19 THAT DAY That day there were two paths to choose; I took the Httle one That led through pastures sweet with bay And cedar trees And up a sudden hill-side To the sea That closed upon it like a door of space And ended it. But you that kept the road So shadowless, so straight, Have found the little towns Thick set with trees, The farm lands rich with toil. The towered city, Shining like a dream; And still The road leads on. THE NAME Over and over all day long I say your name; And wrap it up In little tender words I never heard or learned, But know. Over and over all day long! Until my heart is sweet. Like some dim room Where flowers have been. 20 HER ANGER Her anger is an east wind, Thunderous Witii storms unspent, Clouding the day! Portentous Frought with fate: But oh, her scorn! Clear lightning Riving the gloom! West wind keen and cold, Cleansing and making whole With promise of a star White in the twilight sky. 21 NIGHTINGALES IN EXILE In alien woods tonight The brown birds Sing: Out of wrecked gardens, Desecrated fields, Sanctuaries For ever spoiled, (What songs are yours, O torn and bleeding world Of ancient quiet and old peace?) They come; To sing the silver back To foreign stars And bring the English night Forgotten sweetness, Pledge Of that eternal beauty. Triumphing still. And past the reach Of wars. 22 WAR Wings that darken the morning, Clouding the blue, Vultures that hover Imminent, greedy, sure, Grim harvesters. Who can escape you ? The air is poisoned with smoke Of far-off battles. The guilty earth: — O mother spoiled and betrayed! Spawns a horrible breed: The dew of its birth Is blood. INTERNED All the long day, here in this little room With its white walls and window open to the sky, I lie and watch the hours go by me, One by one! They are like birds, the passing slow winged hours, Birds in an endless flight, And each one with a cry. It is not bells I hear from out some city tower, It is a cry — silver and soft and glad — Of something free! All the long day I watch the hours' flight And when the dark comes and I cannot see, I have the sense of wings; I hear The cry! 23 THE KITE I watched a boy with a kite, (It was red as a tulip And sky and sea were blue). At first it seemed to hesitate As though afraid, And then gaining courage by a little flight It took the wind and soared. Up, up, Like something free, Dipping, veering. Drifting, And up again Until it found The cord. Free yet tied! Better to lie with untried wings Then come so near to freedom And a cord. ESCAPE I said I would have done with thoughts, And names and labels. This shall be no more a tree. Or that a flower, Or colors, green and blue and red, Or love, or hate or joy: For I am sick with the disease of thought And its delirium, imagination. But laying my lips to the Great Cup, I will drink deep of beauty, Wordless, colorless, without name or thought. And I shall be whole. 24 INTERLUDE You that blame the singing With the ready tongue, Could you hear the ringing Of the songs unsung, All the surge and splendor, Joy and lyric pain. Would you change, I wonder, Blame to praise again? So when men benighted In some marshy place Feel with eyes unsighted. Fresh wind on their face Long sought and denied them, Guess how near 7nay be In the dark beside them. All the waiting sea. 25 FROM A SPANISH SKETCH BOOK THE ROAD TO GRANADA All day, the burning furnace of the plain; Bare mountains white with sun — the distances Breathless, unbroken, save where olive trees Spent their scant shade and weary fields of grain Ebbed in the heat like an enchanted main On the wrapt shores of some Hesperides. Still little towns — as sun besieged as these, A hill-top tower glimpsed and lost again — Who guessed this wonder at the journey's close? The shining towers, the leafy long Ravine, Shadows and murmuring water everywhere! Above, Sierra with its crown of snow — And, midway-set, in gardens, hung in air, Alhambra, throned and lovely like a queen! ROMANCE {Patio de Daraxa. Alhambra) The pomegranate's boughs are astir, Where the scarlet blossoms blow. Is it the voice of awakened bird? Or the lingering ghost of a broken word Said long and long ago? For the moon lies white on the court, And the shadows are thick between The columns of the dim arcade. The wizard Moorish builders made For a forgotten Queen. 27 This was the place she sought Weary of song and Hght, Where the wind moved soft as a prayer And the fountain swayed in the scented air Like a white flower of the night. And here where the starry dark Wrought magic and mysteries, Who knew if a proud Queen stormed and wept, There in the palace that reveled or slept, Behind the lattices? The night is astir with its dream; The moon is on tower and wall — Hush! in the shadow something stirred! A bough bent by a restless bird? Or the sound of a light foot-fall? CHAPEL ROYAL Granada Men have seen visions in this reverend place. And walked here softly as on holy ground — Here the carved angels thrilled to hear the sound Of alleluias, like a storm of grace Beating upon these heights of dusky space! Proud knees have bent here — Kingly heads and crowned Bowed here adoring. Royalty hath found Itself made humble by this thorn-browed Face! Here sleeps the dust of unremembered dead. Under their banners' fading blazonry: Old wars have hushed here — valiant swords found rest; Here Pomp grown weary in a Kingdom's stead Under the wings of peace, sleeps quietly — , A tired child upon a mother's breast! 28 SEVILLE A city of the flowers by day, In booth and stall: Along her streets — in place and square Are flowers, flowers, everywhere, And over all. A city of the flowers by night: What other name — For these long garlands down her streets That every river bank repeats But flowers of flame? PADRE No pallid ecstasies for such! Those lips have laughed too long and much To linger long in wistful prayer; He has the eager ready air Of one who finds today too sweet To lose a moment — all replete With pleasure, to the very brim Life holds a winking cup to him. Priest? Yes; but one would surmise Vowed to some Bacchic sacrifice. Look closer at the crisping hair! Find you no hint of vine leaves there? 29 LOLA To-day is festa — Lola piles her hair Into a dusky tower, then with care, Adjusts the comb — and deftly puts a rose Just at the place where it best shows Under the white mantilla; now — the shawl. Deep fringed and embroidered, made to fall In soft folds almost to her slippered feet. Lastly her fan! She's ready for the street! Insolent, radiant, like a brilliant flower, Lola will glow her brief pathetic hour Then grow old suddenly and fade away Into obscurity — that's the Spanish way. DOLORES Withered incredibly, — bent, toothless, spare, Crowlike — you mark her hovering there! Choosing a posy at the flower-stall, Lean shoulders dragging in her rusty shawl, Paying her grudging penny for a rose! That is Dolores! you would not suppose That men have loved her, fought for her — her name Whispered by women — like a word of shame. This battered thing the market girls despise; There's nothing live about her — but her eyes. 30 TRAVELLER'S JOY The hills near by were golden, The far-off hills were blue, There was a brook that sang so clear, I needs must answer, too! There was a little upland road That dipped into a hollow, Where all the maples were a-flame. And so I needs must follow: And follow, follow, till the dusk Had made the near hills far! And answer, answer, till the brook Sang to a silver star! 31 THE MOUNTAIN ASCENT There was a brawling brook to gossip cheer, When first the hill-path found the woods and lead Through cool green glooms. The branches over- head Touched friendly hands, and once a thrush sang near. Then sudden stillness and the way climbed sheer Up breathless stretches, through a shadowed space, When hemlocks whispered, and then, face to face, I stood with the last peak, far off and clear. It flung a splendid challenge to the breeze, I pressed on, strong and eager, up the steep, Behind me lay the forests hushed with sleep — Above me in its granite majesty, Sphinx-like the peak thro' silent centuries Met the eternal question of the sky. 32 SUMMIT Victor at last — throned on the cragged height — I scan the green steeps of the mountain side Where late I toiled. The forest lands stretch wide, And in deep valleys farms gleam faint and white. Vistas of distance break upon my sight, The peopled plain creeps to the sky's blue rim Where far peaks gather — substanceless and dim As half-remembered dreams by noontime light. Between two silences my soul floats still As any white cloud in this sunny air. No sound of living breaks upon my ear, No strain of thought — no restless human will — Only the virgin quiet, everywhere — Earth never seemed so far, or Heaven so near. 33 DARK The shadow falls from Time's slow-passing wing — The color burns to ashes in the west; The last light fades along the darkened crest, And night takes still possession, like a King. In the near fields of sky are blossoming The white stars in a shining multitude; It seems my hand might pluck them, if it would — All flower-like in their close companioning. The valleys fade in dark — the woods recede; A swift wind, fresh from space, blows keen and cold: In the awed silence of this dim high place One keeping vigil might not fear, indeed, If it befell him as that man of old, Who in the mountain met God, face to face. Franconia September^ IQ15 34 THE SONG OF THE CANOE Dip! Dip! And I thrill with the start — For the ripples run and the waters part At the song the paddle sings. Drip! Drip! And lo, it brings The word of a sweet command to me And leaping to answer it — I am free! Water-weeds weaving in vain to stay me. Fain, fain Are the reeds arrayed at my prow to delay me — Vain, vain. They cast their lure and they bid me bide; But the paddle swinging along my side — Dip! Dip! Hath a dearer bribe then the still things know, And I go, I go! Lo, I am come of a wilding birth — The Brown God's cunning my mother made. In the days of the younger earth. He wrought her stanch in sinew and thong. Making her slender and supple and strong And lithe as his knife's own blade. He garnished her bravely, without and within, Breathed into her being the soul of desire, To follow the wake of the mad marsh-lire. Thistle-drift's sister and Will-o'-the Wisp's kin. 35 Out on the trail that the free things know, I go! I goi On the airy quest that is never won; And tempting me, daring me, luring me on, The iris wings of the dragon fly — Till the day is done and the last lights die. GHde! GUde! Across the calm of the evening tide When the first white stars begin. Creep! Creep! Where the lilies sleep — Stars in a sky as soft, as deep — The paddle singing me in. Hush! Hush! For the tall reeds brush My side as though they love me. Rest! Rest! On the inlet's breast With the roof of the leaves above me. 36 IN THE HIGHLANDS The Garry to the Tummel flows, And Tummel seeks the sea, And under boughs of beech and pine The wild white waters sing and shine, And call and call to me. Oh, banks bestarred with primroses! Oh, woodland whisperings! High in the blue I catch the gleam Half guessed, half seen, and all a dream- Of drifting sea birds' wings. Here in the hills with loch and ben Comes the old call to me. Of endless spaces and the quest That will not let me stay or rest But lures my heart to sea. 37 UPLAND ACRES Bleak in the dusk I see them He, The little stony fields swept bare Of their scant harvest — And the sky Close bent above them, as aware. So pitiful their precious store! So meager, yet so dear appears Each careful furrow tilled no more. It seems almost a thing for tears. For here such patient toil has bent And here has centred faith and prayer And here has Hope its radiance spent, And Fear has watched here and Despair. So barren and so rock beset! Mocked by the bay and cedar trees: Sterile and worthless — yet, ah yet — God of all harvests, think on these. And for the sake of toil and prayer, Of thy rich store no gift withhold, Till unguessed glories make them fair, These weary acres, gray and old. 38 THE RAIN Long waited for, deferred, despaired — At last — the rain! A silver silence on the hill, Along the lane, The parched sward, like a thirsty child, Today holds up Its grateful, needy lips, As to a cup. The dripping boughs are weighted down- The birds are still; The garden things bow low to take Its quiet will. The little street has hushed its life: The winds scarce dare To stir this peace that falls as soft. As answered prayer! 39 THE LOST TRAIL Green woodland pity heals the ancient scar; Spring after spring, through still unresting years, In little saplings and the tufted pine. The old trail disappears. Forbidden vine and fern-brake come once more; Brown leaves have hid the secret deep and well; Only the scattered blaze-marks, blurred and dim, A fading message tell. One coming here might seek for it in vain; There is no sign above the guarded gate To point the path, to where the still wood keeps Its heart inviolate. The old path fades, forgotten; only guessed, And scarcely found and once more lost again. No record serves to show the long-healed wound Of havoc and of pain. God send all trails forgetfulness as this! Such healing pity of the kindly years, That no swift-footed memory may find Lost places of old tears! 40 SHADOW TIME The brown arms rest at the journey's end; The ripples eddy and fade and die; The inlet's dark where the birches bend, And the lily-squadrons at anchor lie. The woods are loud with the coming night; A thousand choirs sing even-song; And high in the west — Oh, high and white! The first star beacons the shining throng. This is the chosen and perfect hour, When the dim trail ends at the dusky shore; And leads through the fern and the cardinal flower, To a waiting light and open door. 41 ROADSIDE REST Such quiet sleep has come to them! The Springs and Autumns pass, Nor do they know if it be snow Or daisies in the grass. All day the birches bend to hear The river's undertone; Across the hush a fluting thrush Sings evensong alone. But down their dream there drifts no sound, The winds may sob and stir: On the still breast of Peace they rest, And they are glad of her. They ask not any gift — they mind Not any foot that fares; Unheededly life passes by, Such quiet sleep is theirs. 42 THE SCENT O' PINE Across the drowsing noon, like some soft spell, Than any woodbreath, sweeter and more fine, Elusive, poignant and ineffable The scent o' Pine. As one who opening a casket laid Safe from all curious eyes, too dear to see. And finds old letters that the years have made A Memory — And wrought of ancient sweetness, hope and fears, From out the faded pages, there arise Fragrances, that call forgotten tears Back to the eyes. So now to one returning to this hill Guarded by sun and silence as a shrine. What long forgotten presence mingles still With scent o' Pine! 43 THE THRUSH I hear him when the sunlight pales And shadows on the grass grow long — Leaf-hid, insistent, lyrical: The singer of one song That will not quite reveal his heart, Nor all attain the magic word — Nor capture in one golden note The rapture of the bird. Yet how the silence thrills to hear! The leaves hang breathless lest there fall Wasted, one halting liquid strain. One yearning interval. Again and yet again — until The dark enshrines the haunted place; And from the shadowy skies looks down A star's adoring face! 44 IN THE ARENA Yes! with the dust in my throat! Yes! with the roar in m}' ears! Of the Victor's tumult of praise — the mingled hisses and cheers! While the faces grow dim in a haze. Is it blood? Is it tears? And over me, in a cloud — like visible, sentient things, A-flock o'er the places where Death, their car- rion victim flings — Defeat and Despair hover near, on terrible wait- ing wings ! They shall not have me! Not yet! For the will makes its desperate claim; (O weakness grow strong! O pain be a sword! Be a wakening flame And burn the last dross of denial in fires of shame!) Now — once again! Up! Up! Not yet is the uttermost end! Not till Strength makes its ultimate cast — its last rally send! You have taken your toll of the Flesh; here's Soul yet to conquer, my friend! 45 A STREET CRY Oh, now the heavenly daffodils Their yellow lamps have lit, And vendors take the golden spoil, The streets are bright with it, And baskets brimmed as they can hold Are precious with the April gold. Here's daffodils! I hear them cry Along the noisy way; There's winter in the air and sky, The city streets are gray, But like a hope and prophecy The yellow flowers flame for me. Here's daffodils! oh, somewhere now The earliest dreams awake: Dim stirrings vex the sleeping bough For unborn April's sake — And gardens patient in the snow A thrill of tender promise know. And weary folk that waited long Look up and hope again, In the dumb spaces like a song The old cry echoes plain. New wine the empty chalice fills And for a sign— here's daffodils! 46 THE GLEAM Spring light over the square — Yet the bravest boughs are bare And the bleak winds pass Over the starveling grass. Spring light — tender and blue As April ever knew, A'laking the grim and dull All new and beautiful! Till the pallid loungers seem Caught in a sudden dream, And the sodden faces share In something brave and fair! Listen and you will hear Triumphant, mellow-clear, A note like a bugle's call In the roaring's interval. A street tune! wistful and gay That the gutter organs play — And carol weary and wise The city's song to the skies! 47 COME BUY! "here's flowers for you" perdita The flower-faces bend :,'_.ove the flowers That make the long low loft so strangely gay. Undying beauty — mocking the brief stay Of theirs who toil there thro' the weary hours! Outside, all April, and the sun and showers, The keen wind blowing freshly from the bay: Here tired eyes scarce pause to mark the day; And tired hands contend against dim powers. O Perdita! In all thy garland set Are blossoms sad as these that poverty Weaves in its need to make some other fair? Who reck not in each rose and violet The weary eyes that tears made dim to see, The tired hands that grappled with despair. 48 EVEN-SONGS I The river flows a golden tide Up to a purple shore, The banners of the smoke drift wide Across the open door That God has set beyond the west And made a starry way, To lead to welcome and to rest Another pilgrim day. II Down to the night and the sea The slow sails drift and go, Out of a west spread goldenly Over the purple lands — Past where the city stands, And the dark begins to be, And the lights flare row on row, The slow sails drift to the sea. This is the hope of the day! The promise darkens and dies And the trail of a shadowy way Leads from the dusky shore: Irrevocable evermore. That will not stop or stay. Drifts to the ruined skies The slow winged hope of the day. 49 CAPTIVES At every street-end is the glint of the sea; The last tall houses open like a door, And space and light are waiting evermore Just at the street-end. Oh, how mockingly Flashes the vision of that liberty On the sick eyes of men held prisoner By endless walls and iron streets a-roar, Fain for the sea way fetterless and free! Out of the dusk that darkens half their day They turn, for comfort, to that square of light, The wistful eyes that watch through captive bars The gleam of wings, the far-off azure bay, Or some great ship her full sails crowding white And skies entangled in a net of spars. RENCONTRE Sometimes in these alien streets, In this strange time and place, Almost I stop to speak to you — Thinking I see your face; Your Very-Self, your eyes. Your poised and perfect head; Almost I start and say your name- Forgetting you are dead. SO FOG IN THE CITY Till now the houses in my street Showed me a dear accustomed grace Of homely quiet that made kind, Each worn familiar face. But now, blown in from empty miles, Comes this white magic from the sea To cast a spell across the noon And win my own away from me — To dim my near and friendly sky. To make the honest daylight pale. To weave across my quiet ways A silence and a veil. STREET SONG The thought of you like music Sang in my heart all day; It wrapped me close as sunshine Through many a dusty way ; It folded me in quietness Through all the fret and jar; It led me to the edge of dusk And laughed on me — a star. SI DECORATION DAY All down the dull unheeding street The marching men went by — The banners drifted in the wind, The bugle's silver cry Sang clear, sang high for triumphing, Sang soft as tho' for tears: The tunes that led the marching men To battles of old years. Far down the gray, unlistening street It faded and was done; Oh, bugles, crying from the heights, Of starry victories won, — There follows you in shadowy hosts, Unreckoned and denied — The legions of the love that wept, The ranks of them that died! 52 THE SEA WIND Winnow me through with thy keen blown breath, Wind with the tang of the sea! Speed through the closing gates of the day, Find me and fold me; have thy way And take thy will of me! Use my soul as you used the sky — Dull sky of this sullen day! Clear its doubt as you sped its wrack Of storm cloud bringing its splendor back, Giving it gold for gray! Bring me word of the moving ships. Halyards and straining spars; Come to me clean from the sea's wide breast, While the last lights die in the yellow west Under the first white stars! Batter the closed doors of my heart And set my spirit free! For I stifle here in this crowded place, Sick for the tenantless fields of space, Wind with the tang of the sea! S3 TREES IN THE PARK They are not like their sisters of the wood, These city-trees, For they have lost their innocence Being too close to life. They wear their verdure like a veil, That hides but to reveal: Their shadow has a secret and a shame — Their whisper is a summons and a lure: For they have learned they have a price, And that their beauty is desirable — But they must sing and whisper. Yield, withhold; They are grown wise and weary since they came, These sad, lost sisters of the wood! PARACLETE With the first twilight comes the Comforter; Above the city smoke, clear set and plain. For every eye to share and take again The healing benison that comes with her. Low, low and near, a shining thurifer Before the bright high altar of the west, In some dim rite; a worship manifest As votive gold and frankincense and myrrh. Now Weariness, look up and lift your heart! Toil for a little rest the tired hands, And lonely Grief be comforted a space. Above gaunt towns, o'er torn and restless lands The quiet falls, the last dim curtains part — A white star bums before a watching Face! 54 ALLE SEELEN It is old love that calls to you — Oh, hark! Turn from the lights and laughter to the pane, Where the wet ivies glisten in the rain And the low wind cries houseless in the dark- And if there come there for a little space The pulse of wings bewildered in the night, Oh, understand! Old love strains to the light Craving the pity of your heedless face! This night is ours alone, in all the year — Dead loves, dead hopes, all buried futile thin^js— Be merciful to all the beating wings! They have so brief an hour — O lost and dear! 55 EROICA You that heard the voice of him manfully out- ringing, Rallying for lost causes the broken ranks of right- Praise the valiant faith of him, who led men with his singing, Down the shadowy slope of fear to outposts of the night. You that knew the word of him — wise or stern or tender, That grudged no man his honor — that never softened blame. That called a last endeavor in the face of full sur- render; Let it be of these you sing who come to crown his name. You that saw the brain of him — swift for rede and reckoning. That read with clear-eyed vision the councils of the past. Yet blazed thro' unknown wilderness trails of the future's beckoning; Remember all his wisdom and honor him at last. But I that heard the voice of him — knew the word and brain of him, I that stand today to praise with all the honor- ing lands, Bring my gift of tears to him — ^just for the human pain of him — Just for the gentle heart of him — and for the kindly hands. S6 KNIGHTED Only a word — but I knew! Merely a touch — but I grew Healed and whole and blest, Strong for the Quest! Only a word — but I went Into my banishment, Singing your name and glad — New Galahad! And you — did you know or guess How your face leaned to bless! How of your faith was made God's accolade! 57 THE SECRET CHILDREN We are done with pity — we are done with grief — All the rains are ended, all the winds are laid, To the quiet country of the unfailing leaf, We have come together glad and unafraid. Here we have for music all the songs we sung — Lost, forgotten singing of passing lips and hands — Broken echoes of the joy we knew when we were young Gladden us forever in unshadowed lands. Never more to fright us — never more to chill — Change is like the crumbling wave ebbing back to sea : Time is but a little cloud that fades above the hill In the wide blue morning of eternity. We have made a garland of the tears we wept, We have wrought our sorrows in a crown of flowers. And our secret jewel is the joy we kept Safe throughout the wrecking years and the traitor hours. Call us not at morning time or at dusk of day, Seek us not by croft or dale — or on moor or linn; We have won the Fairy Path, where primroses lay. We have found the secret door and have entered in! 58 DAY'S END Beyond the clamor of the day's unrest, Desires unsatisfied and faltering aim, Doubts, hesitations, fearfulness and blame. The feeble answer to the Great Behest, Temptings acknowledged, failings unconfessed, The petty strife masked by a braver name, The jealousies that brought no saving shame, There shall be silence and a darkening west. Haply the last light of the passing day Will touch them with its pity ere it goes To some new morning — shadowless and far — Haply an instant all the troubled gray Will gleam with gold, will tremble into rose, And over them flame white a steadfast star! 59 PIPES OF PAN He laid his lips to a river reed! If you listened you might hear, The song the bright brown water sings In the Springtime of the year. He laid his lips to a river reed! If you listened you might hark, The sound of the sheep-flocks folded safe In the early April dark. He laid his lips to a river reed! And wistfully he blew, And lo, Love sang from out old years A lost sweet tune you knew — It seemed the stars came out to hear! — So clear he piped and wild — And it seemed the sleeping dead could hear, And hearing must have smiled! So sweet it was, so sad it was, So brave it was and clear. When the young Pan piped on a river reed, In the Springtime of the year. 60 AN OLD SONG When I was a young lad, And that is long ago, I thought that Luck loved every man. And time his only foe, And love was like a hawthorn bush That blossomed every May, And one had but to choose his flower. For that's the young lad's way. Oh, youth's a thriftless squanderer. It's easy come and spent: And heavy is the going now Where once the light foot went. The hawthorn bush puts on its white. The throstle whistles clear. But Spring comes once for every man, Just once in all the year. 6i THE HAPPY SPIRIT The sorrows that I had how shall you know? No wound I keep — no scar is mine to show, Only I wear thro' God's unreckoned hours A crown of flowers ! How shall I witness all the perils passed, Leagued terrors down a journey dim and vast? This shining garment white as driven flame, Mine since I came — What record given of the great Release And the still waters of the wells of peace? Deeper than speech the wordless answer lies — Look in my eyes! THE BLUE DIVIDE A cloud in the East and a cloud in the West; And all day long the blue divide Of the sunderin : sky that lies between, Unsailed and wide. All day long from the East, from the West, Over spaces that kept them twain A white cloud called to a far-off cloud. And heard again! The East is far as the West is far; But look! — when the day is done — In the holy place of the earliest star, The clouds are one! 62 TO-MORROW To-morrow — when the dream comes true, When care is done and grief's away, To-morrow — when I share with you The joy withheld from us to-day! To-morrow — when the bitter word Forgiveness has made sweet once more! To-morrow — when the sea-blown bird Finds the safe shelter of the shore! To-morrow — when the wrong is right. Nor coward fears the hope betray! To-morrow — hush! the East is white With God's unalterable to-day! THE WEAVER I sit apart in shadow — yet my hands Are busy with the shuttle's come and go, And on my loom — the motley figures grow Out of the color of the woven strands: I have had rumor of all times and lands — Strange faces and far cities I do know, Old loves, forgotten warfares — soon or slow Their image haunts the changing pattern's bands! Sable and azure — crimson, gold and rose — The restless shuttle waits the fateful thread, The echoed pageant claims its history — Today's report or yesteryear's — who knows? Mine is the morrow, mine the quick and dead, Mine the last secret of Eternity. 63 POSTSCRIPT Now I have brought you my dreams. And spread them before your feet; Will they be to you only As blown leaves, Russet and red For you to tread on And pass by? My dreams! That are tissue of gold Beaten thin And scarlet with living flame. 64