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WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
With Star and Grass 
 
 By 
 Anna Spencer Twitchell 
 
 The Cornhill Publishing Company 
 Boston 
 

 Copyright, 1921 
 THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 ^^^ /7/j?/©ClA622433 
 
TO D. 
 
 I sought Love over the world 
 
 In countries far — 
 
 Out on strange highways 
 
 I followed the wind, 
 
 I followed a bird, 
 
 I followed a star. 
 
 I sought Love over the world 
 
 Till I weary grew. 
 
 Then I followed my heart 
 
 And it led me 
 
 Home to you. 
 
For the 'privilege of reprinting many of the poems in 
 this book, I am greatly indebted to the editors of the 
 followiug publications: 
 
 Contemporary Verse, Harper's Magazine, The New 
 Republic, Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, The Touch- 
 stone, The Liberator, The Delineator, The Designer, 
 The Forum, The New Fiction Publishing Company, 
 and others. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Wife 3 
 
 With Star and Grass 8 
 
 Bereft 4 
 
 To a Mountain Pine 4 
 
 From a Lonely Hearth 5 
 
 New Fires 5 
 
 From a Cloister 6 
 
 Resurrection 6 
 
 Song 7 
 
 Roses 7 
 
 Kindergarten 7 
 
 The Aspen 8 
 
 Alone 9 
 
 The Vagrant 10 
 
 The Urge 10 
 
 The Chosen 11 
 
 When He Comes Home 12 
 
 The Day Love Came IS 
 
 A Broken Lute 14 
 
 The Haunted Room 14 
 
 Before a Dynamo 15 
 
 Aspiration 15 
 
 Song of the Desert 16 
 
 Mother Heart 16 
 
 A Water Color 17 
 
 The Harp 19 
 
 After Parting 19 
 
 Gethsemane 20 
 
 Songs 20 
 
 Revelation 21 
 
 Long Live the King 21 
 
 ix 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Hands 22 
 
 Sepulture 24 
 
 The Undesired 25 
 
 Her Hands 25 
 
 The Old Father 26 
 
 Loss 27 
 
 War Mother's Lullaby 27 
 
 Two 28 
 
 Wings 29 
 
 Mourners 29 
 
 Epitaph 80 
 
 Love's Gifts SO 
 
 Oh! Through What Groping Lives .... 31 
 
 Compensation 31 
 
 FiveTo-Day 32 
 
 In Spite of Storm §2 
 
 The Little House 33 
 
 Or a Melody 33 
 
 Fulfillment 34 
 
 Moon-Path 34 
 
 Nests 35 
 
 Childless 35 
 
 The Newly Dead 36 
 
 Before Dawn 37 
 
 The Old Grief 37 
 
 Mountains 38 
 
 After Loss 38 
 
 In Absence 39 
 
 I Know 89 
 
 I Wm Sing My Songs to You ...... 40 
 
 Men and Trees 40 
 
 Gifts 41 
 
 The Gate 42 
 
 Lost— A Soul 42 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Virgin 43 
 
 A Late Spring 43 
 
 The Forgotten 44 
 
 Blind 45 
 
 When Muvver Cried 45 
 
 God 47 
 
 In March 47 
 
 Rahab 48 
 
 Truth 49 
 
 When De Hants Is Out 50 
 
 Midsummer's Eve 51 
 
 Prescience 53 
 
 Song 54 
 
 Debt 54 
 
 Transfiguration 54 
 
 Out of Defeat 55 
 
 The Field 55 
 
 Disillusion 56 
 
 September 56 
 
 Spring 57 
 
 The Vampire 57 
 
 This Is Enough 58 
 
 Quatrain 59 
 
 On the Mountain 59 
 
 x» 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 THE WIFE 
 
 He sees the wife from slim, young comeliness, 
 With bearing of his children and their care. 
 Grow stooped and withered and the shining hair 
 That was his pride grow thin and lusterless. 
 Day after day, with wordless, pained distress 
 He strives to ease the load her shoulders bear. 
 Lifting a burden here, a burden there. 
 Or offering some clumsy, rare caress. 
 But ah ! her girl-face never was so fair. 
 And eyes and lips that answered his desire 
 Are limned with sacred meaning to him now. 
 To his rapt sight an angel might aspire 
 To claim the stature of her soul, or wear 
 The halo that surrounds her mother-brow. 
 
 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 As old I am as that white, throbbing star, 
 
 Young as these herbs of Spring that quickly 
 pass — 
 
 My soul goes up the pathway of the star. 
 My feet go down the pathway of the grass. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 BEREFT 
 
 Oh, brown Earth, warm and fragrant, 
 Make soft her tiny bed. 
 Oh, great Winds, in the darkness 
 Move gently overhead — 
 
 Be kind, you waving grasses 
 She gathered baby-wise. 
 And all you buds and blossoms 
 Rest lightly on her eyes. 
 
 Oh, mothers, to your bosoms 
 Fold close and safe your own — 
 My little babe is sleeping 
 Beneath the stars . . . alone. 
 
 TO A MOUNTAIN PINE 
 
 lonely pine 
 
 Upon your granite diff, 
 
 1 know your pain — 
 Tossing your weird arms 
 To the mighty winds. 
 Beating your ragged breast 
 With shrunken hands. 
 
 I know your pain. 
 
 For I have stood 
 
 On such high, dawn-kissed peaks 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 5 
 
 And flung my arms 
 
 And beat with futile hands, 
 
 Because I still was held 
 
 To stone and clod 
 
 By sullen roots 
 
 Of unremembered lives. 
 
 FROM A LONELY HEARTH 
 
 You used to search the sky with serious eyes 
 As though with clearer vision you would see 
 Beyond the hovering night clouds and the stars 
 What heaven might be. 
 
 And now, Beloved, do you ever turn 
 From new-found raptures and celestial sights, 
 Seeking, sometimes, with wide and wistful gaze 
 The dear home lights? 
 
 NEW FIRES 
 
 When every brook is mute and frozen lie 
 The patient fields, and hushed is melody, 
 I am content with books or some old friend 
 Who will not stir my pulse nor quicken me. 
 
 But when the Year lights green fires in the glade, 
 When young grass starts and birds are sweet above, 
 I cry "Halloo" to Pan, and hand in hand 
 We range the high hills calling unto Love. 
 
6 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 FROM A CLOISTER 
 
 Sweet Mary, I have turned my face from life, 
 My heart is empty and my lips unkissed — 
 And often does my soul cry out for all 
 That I have missed. 
 
 Sometimes these wrappings seem but cerements. 
 Sometimes these beads are cold, these prayers are 
 
 dead, 
 And, oh, a cross lies heavy where should lie 
 The little head. 
 
 RESURRECTION 
 
 No tomb shall weight me down, no dark grave close 
 
 Me from the light within its narrow cell — 
 
 The winds I love these ashes shall dispel. 
 
 To mingle with the myriads of those 
 
 Long turned to dust. — But when Spring's magic 
 
 shows. 
 When sweet grass starts and buds begin to swell, 
 Lo, thou shalt find me in the Hly's bell, 
 Lo, I shall wake and blossom with the rose. 
 With the first throb of unseen mystery. 
 Wooing to miracle the senseless clod. 
 With the first subtle thrill of ecstasy. 
 With the first quivering note of melody. 
 This heart shall quicken with the quickening sod. 
 Part of the very beating heart of God. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 SONG 
 
 I have wings today — I can fly, 
 I am quickened with ecstasy, 
 I am part of the shining song 
 Of the brook and tree. 
 
 Love has given me wings and song. 
 He has clasped and touched me with flame. 
 And never shall dawn break as before. 
 Nor starlight look the same. 
 
 ROSES 
 
 Across the garden space 
 A perfume blows — 
 I know the darkness holds, 
 Somewhere, a rose. 
 
 The garden of my dreams 
 Is fragrant, too, 
 And as night holds the rose 
 My heart holds you. 
 
 KINDERGARTEN 
 
 I watched the children today 
 Fitting blocks together 
 In simple patterns 
 I had set for them. 
 
8 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 And as I leaned above 
 
 The small, restless bodies, 
 
 And saw the flushed faces 
 
 Drawn into serious, unaccustomed lines, 
 
 I longed to set the patterns 
 
 Right for them, myself. 
 
 With a few deft touches, 
 
 And send the babies out to play 
 
 In the orchard, 
 
 To shout and dance, 
 
 And catch the falling petals 
 
 In their soft, rosy palms. 
 
 Oh, God, 
 
 Do You never long 
 
 To set the patterns right 
 
 For stumbling fingers, 
 
 And send Your children 
 
 To play on the hills 
 
 Before the day is done? 
 
 THE ASPEN 
 
 Straight and slender 
 
 Is the young Aspen 
 
 Upon the mountain-side. 
 
 Aloof and shining, 
 
 White like a maiden. 
 
 Mystery is about her. 
 
 She sways to a heavenly music. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 The Wind comes as her lover: 
 
 He whispers softly, 
 
 All her pale, silken leaves rustle 
 
 With vague, amorous yearnings, 
 
 Feeling his breath upon her bosom. 
 
 But when, boldly, he would make her his. 
 
 She holds back his ardor 
 
 With slim, protesting hands. 
 
 ALONE 
 
 Well I remember that bleak day of snow, 
 
 Of sullen skies and searching, angry winds — 
 
 How my stern father came and held me up. 
 
 Too small a child to see you as you lay. 
 
 How from the chill aloofness of your smile. 
 
 And from your form so strangely still I turned. 
 
 Half -comprehending, suddenly desolate. 
 
 And hid my face against his breast and yearned 
 
 For some belated hint of tenderness. 
 
 But, coldly, as his way had ever been. 
 
 He but unclasped, slowly, my clinging arms 
 
 About his neck, and led me, shrinking, in 
 
 Among the funeral guests. 
 
 And even now 
 That early loss comes crying at my heart : 
 I stand again the timid, wistful child. 
 Bewildered, in my ugly dress of black, 
 
10 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 Among the whispering neighbors, and I feel 
 Again the curious, prying eyes — And you . . . 
 In the long box . . . helpless to comfort me. 
 
 THE VAGRANT 
 
 My heart it will not stay at home 
 Contentedly and rest, 
 My heart it will not fold its wings 
 Within the quiet nest — 
 
 But still goes crying after dreams 
 Unreal and pale as foam . . . 
 Oh, foolish heart, to follow dreams 
 When you have Love at home ! 
 
 THE URGE 
 
 Through countless ages mute and still 
 Abode that tiny spark from God, 
 
 Unmoved, insensate, with no will 
 Nor impulse above rock and clod. 
 
 For other ages long, it wore 
 
 The humble guise of grass and tree. 
 
 Of tender bud and bloom, before 
 
 It found its earth-bound roots were free. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 11 
 
 It heard, it saw, it woke, it slept, 
 A sentient thing it called and cried — 
 
 It swam, it flew, it crawled, it crept. 
 It mated, bore its kind and died. 
 
 Through aeons slowly wrought the vast 
 Unfoldment of that mighty plan . . . 
 
 Savage but upright, stood at last 
 The uncouth semblance of a man. 
 
 How long, how infinitely long. 
 Before the embryo soul was born. 
 
 To thrill to flower and sea and song. 
 To note the stars, to greet the morn ! 
 
 And with what resurrections bought. 
 
 And by what purging of desires, 
 Behold the creature of His thought 
 
 That, god-hke, to the heights aspires. 
 
 THE CHOSEN 
 
 Upon a radiant summer day 
 Young Love in glory came my way, 
 His wings so dazzling in the light 
 Mine eyes were blinded with the sight. 
 "Come, lay thy hand in mine, dear maid. 
 And go thou with me, unafraid; 
 Whatever thy desire is thine, 
 
n WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 If thou but pledge thy heart to mine: 
 For thee life's honeyed cup/* he said, 
 "The daily banquet richly spread, 
 And learn how I have loved thee. Sweet, 
 Who lay my kingdom at thy feet — 
 Gold, jewels, lands, all thine — Wilt go?" — 
 I hid my face and answered "No." 
 
 When white the drifts of winter lay. 
 
 One desolate and dreary day 
 
 Came Love to me once more and said: 
 
 "I have no place to rest my head. 
 
 And often bitter is the cup 
 
 And dry the crust from which I sup. 
 
 No gift, no promise do I bring. 
 
 This only is my offering: 
 
 A cross which thou must share with me, 
 
 A road whose end no man may see; 
 
 Bruised feet and broken wings — Wilt go?' - 
 
 And I went with him through the snow. 
 
 WHEN HE COMES HOME 
 
 When he comes home again ! I fashion o'er 
 The hundred tender things that I shall say^ 
 How I shall count the dragging hours all day. 
 And when he comes shall hear his step before 
 The old gate clicks, and meet him at the door. 
 And help him with his shabby coat and lay. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 13 
 
 Half-tearfully, the much-brushed hat away, 
 And the stout cane he leans on more and more. 
 When he is seated in his own big chair, 
 That in his absence was so eloquent, 
 As pleased as any child he'll tell me then 
 About his visit, how each day was spent. 
 Adding the while I stroke the soft, gray hair — 
 **But nothing's quite like getting home again!" 
 
 THE DAY LOVE CAME 
 
 The day Love came I did not know his face, 
 So kindly grave it was, so calm the glance 
 From under level brows, I thought I looked 
 On Friendship's countenance. 
 
 The day Love came I did not know his voice. 
 Since it was but a voice famiUar grown. 
 That all my years, in any hour of need. 
 Had answered to my own. 
 
 The day Love came I did not know his touch. 
 So cool and light the clasp he offered me; 
 It caused no leap of hot blood to my heart. 
 No sudden ecstasy. 
 
 The day Love came I did not know his kiss. 
 Who only felt it softly on my hair. 
 When I had thought his burning lips would find 
 My lips, and set it there. 
 
14 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 The day Love came there was no miracle. 
 No rapture and no flame of passion. Nay . . . 
 Too late I knew him for that faithful heart 
 I miss ... so much . . . today. 
 
 A BROKEN LUTE 
 
 A broken lute, my heart ! When tenderly 
 You touched it first to answering harmony, 
 How little dreamed we that your hand would 
 
 wring 
 Such later discord from each tortured string. 
 
 But once too oft the jangling measure woke; 
 Beneath the strain it thrilling, throbbing, broke, 
 And even to your long-loved touch is mute. 
 It answers not — my heart, a broken lute. 
 
 THE HAUNTED ROOM 
 
 When you proved false, the chamber in my heart 
 That had been yours so long, that sorry day 
 I swept and darkened, then I locked the door 
 And threw the key away. 
 
 I thought again to find my former peace. 
 Knowing that chamber tenantless and bare. 
 When, lo, as once I passed that shrouded room, 
 I heard a knocking there. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 15 
 
 When you went forth that day at my command. 
 Unknown within I locked your memory . . . 
 I may not enter that sad ghost to lay — 
 I threw away the key ! 
 
 BEFORE A DYNAMO 
 
 Terrible, unknown power, harnessed and made 
 Servant to puny man! The city street 
 Is but an artery where your pulses beat. 
 Quickening to swifter life the heart of Trade, 
 Hastening the feet of Progress. By your aid 
 We conquer now where once we knew defeat. 
 Light you have given us, and force and heat. 
 Annihilated time and space, and played 
 With life and death even as a juggler may 
 Toss his gilt baubles with a careless hand. 
 Upon the storm you ride unbridled; here 
 Where we have chained you, you can but obey. 
 Straining your bonds vainly, to understand 
 How you were shackled whom your captors fear, 
 
 ASPIRATION 
 
 So long the way at times I cannot see 
 The outline of the peak that beckons me — 
 So thick the mists and clouds that loom afar, 
 I often cannot see my guiding star. 
 
 Though long the way and hidden be the goal, 
 Yet mountain-peak and star are there, my Soul. 
 
16 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 SONG OF THE DESERT 
 
 I stretch my length of burning sand and lie 
 A-dream beneath the hot blue of the sky. 
 And mile on mile upon my barren breast. 
 My yuccas lift in attitude of prayer, 
 Their slim, white hands into the quiet air. 
 With cactuses in fiery splendor set 
 As living jewels in a coronet. 
 
 My mysteries have lured the feet of man, 
 Bones mark the passing of his caravan. 
 Tragedies are my mile-posts, everywhere 
 Pointing the shriveled finger of despair . . . 
 Arid, untamed, yet in my bosom deep 
 The hopes of unborn generations sleep. 
 
 MOTHER-HEART 
 
 Not in the throes of her maternity. 
 Nor when his first cry pierced her consciousness; 
 Not when he drew his life with soft caress 
 From her white breast; not in the hour when he 
 Essayed her arms' safe shelter totteringly. 
 Nor when a dark day left him fatherless; 
 Not when she hid from him her heart's distress. 
 And gave her years to watchful ministry . . . 
 But when, man-grown, he brought her shame and 
 woe. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 17 
 
 And came, a broken thing, to her once more, 
 Soiled, sodden, seemingly devoid of good; 
 'Twas then that, feeble, her gray head bowed low. 
 Yet mutely yearning over him she bore. 
 She tasted her full cup of motherhood. 
 
 A WATER COLOR 
 
 It hangs above my desk in home-made frame; 
 You trace the sprawling letters of the name, 
 *'A California Sunset," and you smile, 
 And comment on the unknown artist's "style"! 
 
 Listen. — Her way like many more was laid 
 In the gray places — less in sun than shade. 
 Less in the brightness than the chilling rain. 
 Less in the paths of pleasure than of pain. 
 The short, hot summers brought the drought 
 
 each year, 
 The blighted crops, the pastures brown and sere. 
 She saw no pleasant stretch of river shore, 
 No trees, no grass, no flowers were round her door. 
 In a hard land where each new day could bring 
 But thankless tasks, she toiled unquestioning. 
 And through the months of barren wintryness. 
 With life as dreary and as colorless. 
 Day after day through those slow-footed hours. 
 She stilled her soul with dreams of birds and 
 
 flowers : 
 
18 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 She saw the sunset warm upon the sky. 
 She saw it on the brooding mountains he; 
 She saw an ocean bathed in tender Hght, 
 And flowers folded-petalled for the night — 
 Until the stumbHng fingers, apt in naught 
 But round of homely duties, and untaught 
 In what the world calls art, in some swift rush 
 Of scarce defined emotion, seized the brush. 
 And painted there upon the back-ground rude. 
 With trembling strokes and colors dull and 
 
 crude, 
 Painted in rapture, painted lovingly, 
 Her dream of mountain and of sunset sea. 
 Great thoughts within her moved her through and 
 
 through. 
 As haltingly the little picture grew, 
 And those stiff fingers, struggling to express. 
 Made every stroke tender as a caress. 
 What that a child's cheap paints were all she 
 
 had, 
 What that the tints were poor, the drawing bad? 
 The blur of color and unsightly lines 
 Glow all transformed when once the heart 
 
 divines . . . 
 
 And so the little daub hangs there today — 
 The paints and brush long since were laid 
 
 away; 
 Quiet at length the restless heart and hand — 
 And one might smile . . . who did not understand. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 19 
 
 THE HARP 
 
 She seems to me like some quaint instrument, 
 That, warped and scarred, is mellowed with the 
 
 years. 
 Attuned to long-dead hopes and smiles and tears, 
 
 Dim as the attic where its days are spent — 
 
 That yet, with every quivering nerve a-thrill 
 Speaks at the touch of skillful hands across 
 The tarnished strings, through change, decay 
 and loss 
 
 Responsive to the master-fingers still. 
 
 AFTER PARTING 
 
 I have not let him know my love 
 Nor put its rapture in a song, 
 But with stern guard on eyes and lips 
 I have been strong. 
 
 I have shut out his prayers and turned 
 Blindly from his dear arms and kiss — 
 Oh, I have found, some way, somehow. 
 Courage for this . . . 
 
 Oh, road whereon he lonely walks. 
 Oh, saihng moon, a silver rim. 
 Oh, winds and clouds and stars, tonight 
 Be kind to him. 
 
20 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 GETHSEMANE 
 
 Quiet but sleepless all the night she lies. 
 The while the little clock ticks noisily 
 'The passing moments to eternity. 
 She watches for the dawn with straining eyes. 
 Feeling the first, faint thrill within her rise. 
 Fore-runner of the miracle to be — 
 Her hour with God on woman's Calvary. 
 Her untried soul for strength and courage cries 
 To face the unknown perils of the day. 
 When that frail flesh in pain is crucified. — 
 Wide-eyed, she sees the brooding darkness flee 
 At dawn's approach, and mutely strives to pray. 
 While he sleeps on unheeding at her side. 
 This bitter night of her Gethsemane. 
 
 SONGS 
 
 The songs I sang before you came, beloved. 
 Were such as youth sings, confident and clear. 
 Lightly from thoughtless lips and untried heart 
 For all to hear. 
 
 Since love has touched me and with other eyes 
 I read new meaning now in everything. 
 My lips are strangely mute, and only God 
 Can hear me sing. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 21 
 
 REVELATION 
 
 So calm she is, so nun-like is her mien, 
 
 Pale lips and placid brow and banded hair — 
 
 Aloof and coldly white and passionless 
 
 As those who dwell within the cloister's air. 
 
 But once I saw her for a mad breath's span 
 Unguarded, with the mask she wears laid by. 
 And for a tortured moment in her eyes. 
 Something that begged for death but could not die. 
 
 "LONG LIVE THE KING!" 
 
 "The King is dead!— Long live the King!" 
 They cried as they crowned his son. 
 The dead king smiled in his awful peace 
 As they hailed the other one. 
 
 The son stood straight in youth and strength 
 While they placed the heavy crown. 
 And gave him the scepter that yesterday 
 The dead laid gladly down. 
 
 Brave and fair stood the slender lad 
 
 And never a sign he gave, 
 
 Though none knew better than he, they fixed 
 
 The gyves upon a slave. 
 
22 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 THE HANDS 
 
 I sing the hands of Labor: 
 
 The unskilled hands that smite and break and hew. 
 That cut and dig and draw and cleave. 
 That blast and delve and heave and dredge; 
 The sinewy, roughened, horny hands, 
 The seamed and maimed and knotted hands. 
 Begrimed and stained and worn — 
 All the patient, faithful, burden-bearing hands of 
 the world. 
 
 I sing the hands of Labor: 
 The uncouth, virile, hairy hands of men, 
 With dead dreams in their eyes, and in their hearts 
 The burnt-out embers of dead altar fires. 
 The sodden days lie heavy on their souls 
 As sodden nights weight down their heavy lids. 
 Could dreams and sacred fires be meant for such 
 as these? 
 
 I sing the hands of Labor: 
 
 Unlovely hands with fingers blunt and shapeless. 
 The red and coarsened hands of women. 
 The women with no time for motherhood 
 Beyond the bearing of the listless babes 
 Conceived of pale, anemic passion in sordid in- 
 tervals 
 Between the hopeless days. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 23 
 
 I sing the hands of Labor: 
 
 The hands of youths and maids who come with 
 
 lagging feet 
 In the endless procession of workers. 
 With heavy, sullen features 
 And old, wistful eyes that question life. 
 
 I sing the hands of Labor: 
 
 The pitiful, thin hands of little children, 
 
 God's little children, robbed of love and laughter, 
 
 And cheated of their playtime; 
 
 Thrust from their cradles by the greed of men 
 
 Into the ranks of toilers. 
 
 To sip of knowledge from a poisoned cup, 
 
 And learn the beautiful truths of their bodies 
 
 From lecherous lips; 
 
 Baby hands, fashioned for kisses. 
 
 That, still warm from the meager breasts of gaunt 
 
 mothers. 
 Are schooling themselves to patience and cunning 
 At tedious tasks. 
 
 I sing the hands of Labor: 
 The bony, bloodless, withered hands, 
 The feeble, faltering, palsied hands, 
 The tragic hands of the uncherished old, 
 So soon to drop the tangled threads of life, 
 And lay the blurred, unsightly pattern by. 
 
24 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 I sing the hands of Labor — 
 
 All the patient, faithful, burden-bearing hands of 
 
 the world .... 
 Christ's tears will wash the scars from these 
 
 poor hands. 
 
 SEPULTURE 
 
 They have laid by their outworn vestures, all 
 
 The hosts we call the dead. 
 
 They rot in wormy shrouds or moulder in 
 
 The catacombs. 
 
 Or dragged from ravished tombs 
 
 They grin at us from painted stalls. 
 
 Brown, shrunken mummies 
 
 Swathed in yellowed bands .... 
 
 When I shall wing my way among the stars. 
 
 In perfect tune, at last, with God's great 
 
 plan. 
 Perchance I shall not care what fate befell 
 The frayed robe of my soul. 
 And yet this seems more fit 
 Than charnel damps and slow decay: 
 That darting fingers of the sure, swift flame 
 Shall ravel out its twisted stuff, 
 And slender fingers of the winds of heaven 
 Weave it in cloud, or bear it where 
 The next sweet spring may make it into 
 
 flowers. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 25 
 
 THE UNDESIRED 
 
 An unloved burden carried through the weary 
 
 months . . . 
 Another babe, 
 Unwelcome, undesired, 
 To drink the bitter milk 
 From a reluctant, meager breast. 
 To suck in with the scant, thin stream 
 The poison bred of loathing 
 And the hot shame 
 Of motherhood defiled; 
 
 To come in time to know the look of gray despair 
 In the dull eyes. 
 The sullen resignation 
 Of the spiritless, broken thing 
 That suffers numbly with no outward sign. 
 
 Nothing of joy in that life at her heart, 
 
 Nothing of sweet, dear planning, holy awe 
 
 For the great miracle of love made flesh; 
 
 No high inheritance of dreams. 
 
 No warm and yearning arms — 
 
 Only the mother-cry of agony. 
 
 And the worn face that looks . . . and turns away. 
 
 HER HANDS 
 
 Not white nor soft, her hands, nor tapering — 
 Uncared for, rough, with red, work-coarsened skin; 
 
26 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 No gems they boast, but long by time worn thin 
 
 As pledge of wifehood, just one plain band ring. 
 
 Their sole adornment through the years has been. 
 
 Such willing hands, alert for anything 
 
 Of service, for the daily tasks that bring 
 
 Nor thanks nor praise; the same dull round 
 
 within 
 The house, of toil and grind the grim years send. 
 Such patient, tender hands, so swift to ease, 
 So strong to minister in hours that try 
 The tortured soul. — ^Ah, it is hands like these. 
 Faithful and burden-bearing to the end, 
 We miss — God help us! — when they folded lie. 
 
 THE OLD FATHER 
 
 Last evening I came on him, unaware. 
 
 His shabby, old straw hat upon his knee. 
 
 The good, stout stick he leans on, easily 
 
 Within his reach beside his big arm-chair; 
 
 Aureoled by the whiteness of his hair, 
 
 The gentle face a-light with memory. 
 
 The faded, blue eyes wistful, as we see 
 
 A child's that begs an answer to its prayer. 
 
 And almost I could see her lean to rest 
 
 Her lips upon his forehead, and to lay 
 
 Her soft, old cheek to his, then poised for flight, 
 
 Laugh back at him, till captive on his breast 
 
 She took his kiss. There in the failing light 
 
 I left him to his dreams, and stole away. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 27 
 
 LOSS 
 
 My dream it was a soaring bird, 
 Lured to his hand and will — 
 Its flight is done that in the dust 
 Lies broken-winged and still. 
 
 My love it was the boon he begged. 
 An opening rose of red. 
 But ah, his breath has withered it — 
 And now the rose is dead. 
 
 WAR MOTHER'S LULLABY 
 
 Lullaby — lullaby — 
 Camest from my heart to lie 
 With the cold ground for a bed. 
 And no roof above thy head. 
 Hunger, fear and misery 
 Sapped my life and cheated thee, 
 And this shrunken breast is dry — 
 Lullaby — lullaby. 
 
 In the darkness and the rain. 
 Cradled where the dead have lain. 
 Cradled on the verge of hell — 
 Through the scream of shot and shell 
 God can never hear thy cry — 
 
 Lullaby — lullaby. 
 
2S WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 Lullaby — ^lullaby — 
 
 Country! — ^but the price is high! 
 
 Thy young brothers fair and brave, 
 
 And thy father — all, I gave. 
 
 All of suffering I know . . . 
 
 Long my tears have ceased to flow . . . 
 
 Hush — 'tis not so hard to die — 
 
 Lullaby — lullaby. 
 
 TWO 
 
 I gave them flesh and brought them by 
 The narrow gate of pain; 
 I suckled them, I worked for them, 
 I saw them both attain 
 
 Yoimg manhood's growth. — And then I said; 
 "Now they will care for me, 
 And happy years at length shall bring 
 Their sons about my knee." 
 
 Then came the war. . .1 gave them both. . . 
 
 I saw them march away ... 
 
 As though they had not ever been 
 
 I am alone today. 
 
 One fell. . . The other? by the fire 
 He sits, or in the sun, 
 His mind forever shattered by 
 The horror of Verdun. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 29 
 
 He stares and stares with vacant eyes 
 And whispers all the while . . . 
 And I had rather see him dead 
 Than see his awful smile. 
 
 WINGS 
 
 So weak and small, so shaken with the gusts 
 Of sorry passions, bound by earthly things, 
 
 So given to futile fears and vague mistrusts — 
 Yet have we wings ! 
 
 The love that lifts and shares another's woe, 
 
 The upward reaching thought, the dream that 
 sings, 
 
 Unselfish prayers that rise to heaven — lo. 
 These are our wings. 
 
 As nestlings in their first flights strive and yearn, 
 Testing their powers with feeble flutterings 
 
 And timid trials, so at last we learn 
 To use our wings! 
 
 MOURNERS 
 
 They look with curious eyes to see me smile 
 And take my task up with unfaltering hand— 
 Who, knowing you, yet donned a garb of black, 
 Could never understand. 
 
30 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 They sit within the dim and breathless house. 
 And feed their grief with white-hpped question- 
 ing, 
 While just without, the garden that you loved 
 Grows fragrant with the Spring. 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 This shattered chalice 
 
 Held thy wine 
 
 Of life— 
 
 Its end is served. 
 
 Tomorrow 
 
 Thou shalt fill 
 
 Another cup. 
 
 Nor know that thou 
 
 Didst ever drink before. 
 
 LOVE'S GIFTS 
 
 Love plucked a flower for me 
 One happy day. 
 
 But the flower was a joy that paled 
 And passed away. 
 
 Love gave me a jewel fair 
 While his eyes caressed, 
 But the gem was a hope that died 
 Within my breast. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 31 
 
 Love fashioned a crown and brought 
 As offering — 
 
 A grief which the years have made 
 A holy thing. 
 
 OH, THROUGH WHAT GROPING LIVES— 
 
 Within that shambling, uncouth shape I wore, 
 Something unborn stirred faintly. — From the clod 
 The sullen glance was raised, the face grotesque 
 Lifted with some vague impulse toward God .... 
 
 Oh, through what groping lives, what paths of 
 pain. 
 
 What tossing tides my faltering soul must stem. 
 
 Oh, through what mysteries have I come. Be- 
 loved, 
 
 To kneel at last and kiss your garment's hem. 
 
 COMPENSATION 
 
 The years have taken all I had : 
 
 Swift senses, supple grace. 
 
 Gold from my hair, light from my eyes. 
 
 The roses from my face. 
 
 The years have taken all I had: 
 
 Now they shall give to me, 
 
 Who from their hands in one keen breath 
 
 Take immortality. 
 
32 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 FIVE TODAY 
 
 Five years old today ! ah, my sweet, I see 
 What a great big girl you have grown to be. 
 The ringlets that clustered your baby brow 
 Hang in curls quite down to your shoulders now; 
 You are tall for your years — a little maid 
 With serious eyes that are unafraid; 
 You speak with a quaint little lisp the while, 
 And bless me — ^you've stolen your daddy's smile! 
 You are slender and straight of limb, and light 
 Of step as the fairies that dance by night. 
 And your merry laugh is so sweet and clear 
 I fancy its echo reaches me here. 
 Ah, baby, our baby who went away — 
 Somewhere in heaven you're five today. 
 
 IN SPITE OF STORM 
 
 The high storms searched me out 
 Within my barren cleft, 
 But as the mountain Gilia, 
 Tossed and broken by the winds 
 Will cling by just a thread 
 Of tenuous root to life 
 And bear its bloom, 
 I hold by one frail dream. 
 The patient years will heal, 
 And, shapen out of pain. 
 My soul at last shall lift 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 33 
 
 A chalice white, 
 
 To hold the dew and rain 
 
 THE LITTLE HOUSE 
 
 I wonder how these pleasant folk, 
 These kindly folk that neighbor me. 
 Can pass my gate day after day 
 And never see — 
 
 Can look and nod engrossed in talk 
 Or business dull and commonplace. 
 No swift surprise or wonder marked 
 On any face. 
 
 I must believe they only see 
 A house, a garden fenced and neat. 
 Apparently like many more 
 Along the street: 
 
 A tiny, unpretentious place 
 
 With graveled paths and spreading oak-^ 
 
 Yet Love left paradise for this, 
 
 Oh, stupid folk! 
 
 OR A MELODY 
 
 With the winds of dawn that stir 
 As the stars grow dim. 
 Scorning mountains that divide, 
 I go seeking him. 
 
34 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 Though he never know the watch 
 That my spirit keeps, 
 Nor my kiss upon his eyes, 
 Softly, as he sleeps — 
 
 Let me steal across his dreams. 
 Sometimes let me be 
 As a fragrance or a light 
 Or a melody 
 
 FULFILLMENT 
 
 That day, beloved, shall bring joy to some. 
 To others, grief — to many, life, and lay 
 Death's shadowy laurels upon waiting brows. 
 To some it will be just another day. 
 
 My heart will know while yet the sky is gray. 
 When weary men with sleep are drugged and 
 
 numb. 
 And quickening before the mists of dawn 
 My eager soul shall meet you as you come. 
 
 MOON-PATH 
 
 The pale, young moon slips through my open 
 
 door, 
 And weaves a fragile path of mystery — 
 Fragrant, alluring, one white rose without. 
 Beckons and nods to me. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 35 
 
 Perhaps old dreams shall come with eager feet 
 A-down that whither-leading way of light . . . 
 Perhaps old memories shall stir and wake 
 And walk with me to-night. 
 
 NESTS 
 
 I felt the thrill before my eyes could see, 
 The quickening at the heart of everything, 
 And lo ! while yet I marveled, it was Spring, 
 All palpitant with birth and mystery. 
 Busy the long day through on tireless wing. 
 Two sparrows building in a leafing tree. 
 Drunken with bliss though garbed most quakerly, 
 Chirped of the rapture that they could not sing. 
 And I! — I thought me of a country lane. 
 Where even now the crocuses must be 
 Jeweling all the starting green again; 
 And in a wee, brown, snugly-hidden nest, 
 My eager fancy leaped to clasp her, — she 
 With our small fledgeling safe upon her breast. 
 
 CHILDLESS 
 
 Her bosom's tender curves have never been 
 
 The pillow for a sleepy baby's head. 
 
 She has not brooded by a small, white bed. 
 
 With soft, deft mother-touches, tucking in 
 
 A little form. She has not fought to win 
 
 Through racking hours, uncheered, uncomforted, 
 
36 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 A hopeless bout with death, nor anguished shed 
 Her holy tears, when first the shape of Sin 
 Threatened a heart once nourished near her 
 
 own. — 
 Within her dim house is no prattling glee. 
 No littered rooms, no sound of eager feet. 
 The days are meaningless, and she alone 
 Can know how her life's flower, shaped perfectly. 
 Yet slowly withers, barren, incomplete. 
 
 THE NEWLY DEAD 
 
 I sat beside the newly dead — 
 Without the trees were bare, 
 The wind swept in through every crack 
 Guttering the candles there. 
 
 Gaunt branches brushed against the pane — 
 My dead did never stir; 
 The wind beat shrieking at the door 
 But never startled her. 
 
 And she who in the crying storm 
 Would wake with vague alarms. 
 And shrink and cling and creep at last 
 For comfort to my arms. 
 
 Lay undismayed, so small, so frail^ 
 Composed and quiet — she, 
 My little bride, so strangely come 
 To have no need of me. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 37 
 
 BEFORE DAWN 
 
 When youth was all of life 
 And shining days were long, 
 Upon my lips 
 Love was a song. 
 
 When tides were at their full 
 And pulses hot and high, 
 Out of my heart 
 Love was a cry. 
 
 And now when with the stars 
 This sacred hour I share, 
 Within my soul 
 Love is a prayer. 
 
 THE OLD GRIEF 
 
 The quick storm caught us and the beat of rain 
 Flashed slanting silver on the wayside dust- 
 
 The poppies' startled faces were a stain 
 And blur of scarlet against yellow rust. 
 
 Beneath the refuge of a friendly tree, 
 
 Within my arms I held you close and warm- 
 
 You answered to the first kiss fearlessly. 
 And oh, I blessed the miracle of storm! 
 
38 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 So keen at heart my unhealed sorrow Hes 
 This still can stir to sudden, throbbing pain, 
 
 And bring the swift tears to my anguished eyes: 
 A country roadside and the breath of rain. 
 
 MOUNTAINS 
 
 Serene and still each rock-hewn face. 
 Though storms have left their scars — 
 They seem to shame my spirit bowed 
 In dust beneath the stars. 
 
 Oh, granite peaks of mystery 
 
 And winds' eternal psalm, 
 
 If but my heart were stone like yours, 
 
 I, too, could be as calm. 
 
 AFTER LOSS 
 
 For them there still are stars, 
 And flowers upon the earth. 
 The zest of dreams and work. 
 And melody and mirth. 
 
 And still are dawn and dusk, 
 And days of long delight. 
 And lips that touch and cling. 
 Of lovers in the night. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 39 
 
 For me is only this: 
 
 Your grave — a wound still new 
 
 Upon a wind-swept hill 
 
 That holds my dead heart, too. 
 
 IN ABSENCE 
 
 Sometimes with an up-leaping heart 
 I see a shadow fall, 
 Across a sudden silence 
 I seem to hear you call : 
 
 But when I look it is a cloud 
 Upon my bit of sky, 
 And when I listen comes again 
 Only a wild bird's cry. 
 
 I KNOW 
 
 Dear Heart, I know what love could mean. 
 And for that love I long, 
 Since in my veins is singing fire 
 And life in me is strong. 
 
 Dear Heart, I know what love could mean . 
 But on my lips I lay 
 Silence, and only tell to God 
 The dream I put away. 
 
40 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 I WILL SING MY SONGS TO YOU 
 
 I will sing my songs to you 
 Though the miles may part — 
 Like the love that sends them forth 
 They will find your heart: 
 
 Little songs made white as prayer 
 And by sorrow blest — 
 Oh, as I would, if I might, 
 They will find your breast. 
 
 I will sing my songs to you, 
 And if God shall hear. 
 He will know — and let them rest 
 Softly as a tear. 
 
 MEN AND TREES 
 
 We stand along your avenue 
 A stately, ordered row — 
 Important, selfish, silly, vain, 
 We watch you come and go. 
 
 In silent laughter we look on 
 At all the things you do— 
 You little dream how, leafily, 
 We make a jest of you: 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 41 
 
 Your endless scramble after wealth, 
 Your malice and your greed. 
 Your shameful mockery of God, 
 The bloody wars you breed. 
 
 For if we could not turn to jest 
 The foolish and the bad. 
 From very horror of your deeds 
 I think we should go mad. 
 
 Oh, we are wiser far than you 
 In truths and mysteries , . . 
 'Tis only feet that make you men, 
 And roots that make us trees. 
 
 GIFTS 
 
 When I came down from the mountain trail 
 
 I brought three gifts to her: 
 
 A feather of cloud, 
 
 A wild bird's song 
 
 And a wreath of juniper. 
 
 When I came again from the mountain trail 
 
 I found of the gifts I gave. 
 
 The cloud had scattered, 
 
 The song was mute. 
 
 And the wreath was on her grave. 
 
42 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 THE GATE 
 
 The wood is stubborn and tough 
 And the iron is hard and cold — 
 I cry and I beat upon the Gate 
 But the great locks hold. 
 
 I can beat till my hands are torn, 
 
 I can call till I faint for breath — 
 
 It closed when the first man lonely passed 
 
 To the realm of Death. 
 
 LOST— A SOUL 
 
 Somewhere in all this confusing 
 
 Tangle of objects, 
 
 Among the possessions 
 
 I have strained and sweated 
 
 All my best years 
 
 To gather about me— 
 
 Somewhere among the crowding ornaments. 
 
 Furniture, rugs, brocades. 
 
 Cut-glass and silver-plate. 
 
 Is the soul I have lost. 
 
 In my youth of privation and struggle 
 
 It used to brighten 
 
 My bare little room. 
 
 It wore a shimmering garment of dream 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 43 
 
 A filet of golden fancies 
 Bound its brow. 
 Its eyes held visions. 
 
 If anyone chance to see a soul 
 
 Grown somewhat fat and sluggish 
 
 And careless in attire, 
 
 Hugging itself and gloating 
 
 In some richly upholstered chair, 
 
 Or counting the silver spoons, 
 
 It is mine. — I would have it back. 
 
 For one needs a soul 
 
 If only to keep up appearances. 
 
 VIRGIN 
 
 I often see her in a quaint, prim gown. 
 Walking within the shady garden close. 
 Her faded cheek flushed softly as she bends 
 Above a rose. 
 
 She smiles at happy mothers as they pass 
 A wistful smile — then slowly turns away, 
 A lonely figure in a garden where 
 No children play. 
 
 A LATE SPRING 
 
 This Spring-time has no laughter in her face; 
 Her eyes are veiled with shadows and the sweet 
 Young curve of lips is sorrowful. — The street 
 
44 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 That takes on passing beauty from her grace, 
 
 Is bleak and cheerless still, a straggling row 
 
 Of ugly houses and of naked trees, 
 
 And woodland shrines are bare of mysteries. 
 
 With empty censers swinging to and fro. — 
 
 Reluctantly the line of frost recedes. 
 
 Even the songs of birds are less elate. 
 
 Even the grass beside the path is thin 
 
 And pale between November's faded weeds. 
 
 It is as though the Winter held the gate 
 
 Half open, through which the tides of life flow in. 
 
 THE FORGOTTEN 
 
 No song is on my lips 
 Where song was yesterday — 
 I wish that I could cry, 
 I wish that I could pray. 
 
 I go with dragging feet 
 From task to weary task. 
 My heart is but a stone. 
 My face is but a mask. 
 
 Green fires are on the hill, 
 
 A bird calls to its mate. 
 
 Love comes with tender strength. 
 
 Life beats upon the Gate. 
 
 But Love comes not to me. 
 No surge of life sweeps high — 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 45 
 
 I wish that I could pray, 
 I wish that I could cry. 
 
 BLIND 
 
 I shall not see the budding of the Spring, 
 I shall not see the Summer's glory pale, 
 
 The flash of painted breast and soaring wing. 
 The poppy's piquant face beside the trail. 
 
 All masked for me — the sunny, wind-swept space, 
 The mists that wrap the valley like a shroud. 
 
 The hills where Autumn drapes her orient lace, 
 The visions limned in lifting smoke and cloud. 
 
 Yet not alone nor stricken utterly 
 
 Though thrust to sudden darkness and apart — 
 I have your face and smile in memory. 
 
 The wonder of you warm against my heart. 
 
 Not all for sorrow marked nor all unblessed! 
 
 A sweetness lingers in the bitter bowl, 
 A meaning in all things before unguessed. 
 
 And shapen in the stillness of the soul. 
 
 WHEN MUVVER CRIED 
 
 One time when I ist wouldnt mind. 
 An' had been very, very bad. 
 My muvver didn't say a word. 
 But looked at me so drefful sad — 
 
46 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 An' I ist pouted like I 'uz, 
 
 An' kicked my heels against the chair. 
 
 An' ist p'tended to myself 
 
 'At I 'uz glad an' didn't care! 
 
 I didn't look at her but at 
 The pattern on the nurs'ry wall. 
 An' I kept sayin' to myself: 
 "I'm bad, an' I don't care at alU" 
 
 I felt so stubborn all inside, 
 An' ist as cross as I could be, 
 An' swinged my feet an' waited for 
 Her to come there an' punish me. 
 
 The minutes they went by so slow 
 'At I got tired, an' by-an'-by 
 I peeked at her a little bit 
 Out of the corner of my eye. 
 
 An' 'en, oh, dear! — the stubborn there 
 On my inside, an' all the mad 
 'Uz gone so quick I wondered why 
 It 'uz 'at I had been so bad. 
 
 An' I jumped down and runned to her 
 An' hugged an' kissed her, an' I said: 
 **0h, muvver, I'm so sorry, an' 
 I ist most wish 'at I 'uz dead! 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 47 
 
 An' she laughed kind of shaky -like 
 An' stroked my hair an' kissed me nen, 
 An' I said "honest, cross my heart'* 
 I never would do so again. 
 
 I've thinked about it ever since, 
 I can't forget it when I try — 
 My daddy says no gentleman 
 Would ever make his muwer cry! 
 
 GOD 
 
 I followed it through Druid forests dim. 
 Through sunny vales and to the mountain height, 
 I saw it marching with the legioned waves, 
 I felt it in the mystery of night. 
 
 It flew before the rosy mists of day. 
 The vast winds caught and carried it along. 
 It trembled in the chalice of a rose, 
 I heard it in a linnet's matin song. 
 
 It looked from out a dumb brute's patient eyes, 
 It mounted on from star to paling star: 
 That glory which man has within himself. 
 But which he ever blindly seeks afar. 
 
 IN MARCH 
 
 I dreamed last night that it was spring, 
 
 And that I heard a robin sing. 
 
 And woke from sleep, at length to find, 
 
48 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 The teasing fingers of the Wind, 
 Have piled the white drifts to my door 
 And sifted some upon the floor, 
 And all my window-pane is crossed 
 With fairy etchings of the frost. 
 I hear a creaking wagon go, 
 Complaining shrilly, through the snow; 
 I see a sky of leaden gray. 
 My neighbor says, "A bitter day." 
 I woke — ah, yes ! — the trees are bare. 
 But there is something in the air. 
 No rain is dripping from the eaves. 
 But hush ! — I hear the little leaves 
 Stir softly in their beds of bark. 
 And in their blankets in the dark, 
 The tiny baby seeds below. 
 Begin to turn and stretch and grow. 
 
 Then blow, O Wind, and Winter do 
 Your worst — my dream is coming true ! 
 
 RAHAB 
 
 In the light of her sensuous glances, 
 
 In the web of her scented hair. 
 
 In the curve of her coral-budded breasts. 
 
 They dream — and they perish there. 
 
 Sweet flesh for their barter or buying. 
 Poor victim and lurer of men — 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 49 
 
 When the hot draft is drained and the goblet 
 Lies shattered, oh, Rahab, what then? 
 
 TRUTH 
 
 I bear my flaming torch before you, 
 
 But you hide your eyes from my Hght, 
 
 And guide your Uves by the Httle, flickering 
 
 candles 
 Of desire and delusion. 
 I unveil my glory to your sight, 
 But my nakedness affrights you. 
 And your evil minds make lewdness 
 Out of what is holy. 
 
 You would put out my torch if you might. 
 Even as you defile my sacred body. 
 Behold how I am rended. 
 How I am dragged through the slime in which you 
 
 breed, 
 How I am offered up daily in sacrifice 
 To your unspeakable idolatries. 
 To your fetishes of prudery and convention. 
 
 Puny creatures of a day, 
 
 Disappearing, reappearing, 
 
 Working out your salvation through many lives. 
 
 Like moles burrowing blindly. 
 
 Sensing nothing higher than your clod of earth. 
 
 It is such as you who persecute and trample me. 
 
 Pompous little strutting men. 
 
50 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 Oppressors, plunderers. 
 
 Selling souls for gain. 
 
 Making wars for greed — 
 
 It is such as you who insult my divinity. 
 
 Know you not that I am deathless : 
 
 That I rise triumphant from the dust 
 
 Of decayed civilizations. 
 
 And spring from the ashes of burned-out worlds? 
 
 Know you not that I was begotten of God, 
 
 Nourished in the womb of Eternity, 
 
 And came forth with the birth-pangs of Creation? 
 
 That my torch was lighted with the lighting of the 
 
 stars. 
 And shall not be dimmed when they are quenched? 
 
 And so I go before you down the ages . . . 
 Naked Truth, bearing a torch. 
 
 WHEN DE HANTS IS OUT 
 
 Your caint tell me nuflfin', fo' yo' ole uncle 
 
 knows. — 
 Why else he been a-livin' all dis time, you spose? 
 Why, chile, when I wuz jes' a-wearin* baby does. 
 My mammy she had learned me dat on nights lak 
 
 dese, 
 W*en somepin go a-wailin' thoo de elum trees. 
 An' de moon is hid, an' de rain a-comin' down, 
 Dat you bettah stay inside whar yo' safe an* soun'. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 51 
 
 So, chile, you listen to me — what I says is true : 
 De Hants is awful hongry, an' a-waitin*, too, 
 Fo' a little pickininny dat's as plump as you; 
 An' dey aint no question, an' dey aint a bit of 
 
 doubt, 
 Dat dis berry, blessed evenin' all de Hants is out ! 
 
 Fo' when de lightning flashes an' de thundah roa'. 
 Den de Hants all stan' in a row by de doa', 
 Caze dey scent out a niggah every time fo' sho*. 
 An' dey stick dey long noses to de cracks an' 
 
 smell, 
 An' if de dahkie 's fat dey am pleased mighty well. 
 An' dey all switch dey tails, an' dey all lick dey 
 
 chops. 
 And de win' go Screech ! — and de broken shuttah 
 
 flops! 
 So, chile, you listen to me — what I says is true : 
 De Hants is awful hongry, an' a-waitin', too, 
 Fo' a little pickininny dat's as plump as you; 
 An' dey aint no question, an' dey aint a bit of 
 
 doubt, 
 Dat dis berry, blessed evenin' all de Hants is out ! 
 
 MIDSUMMER'S EVE 
 
 Gaunt as the ghastly tenements which they call 
 
 home. 
 Fronting the squalor of the wretched street. 
 After the day's fierce heat is ended 
 
52 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 They come forth from dim, ill-smelling halls. 
 From stuffy, cluttered rooms. 
 From stifling attics and loathsome cellars 
 Into the outer air. 
 
 They crowd the crazy stoops and crumbling 
 
 stairs. 
 Overflowing the pavement and the oozing gutters 
 
 edge: 
 Slouching, unshaven men. 
 Sallow, slattern women 
 With wispy hair caught back 
 From bleak, unlovely faces. 
 Suckling at inadequate breasts 
 Their latest born; 
 
 The aged with peering eyes and sagging lips. 
 And children with old features marked with 
 
 doom. 
 
 Curses are heard and raucous cries, 
 
 A woman's shrill, sudden laughter, 
 
 The wail of a sick child, 
 
 The dry cackling of a senile voice, 
 
 A babe's complaint — 
 
 And coming nearer and nearer down the 
 
 street 
 The whine of a hurdy-gurdy 
 Playing over and over 
 "I'm Always Blowing Bubbles" 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 53 
 
 What do they know of the beauty 
 
 Of summer days and nights, 
 
 Housed within musty walls. 
 
 Bred in misery and schooled in wantonness, 
 
 Without a hope, an aspiration or a dream? 
 
 What do they know of the miracle of a waking 
 
 world. 
 Of dew-gemmed sward and the lifted faces of 
 
 flowers? 
 What do they know of leafy dells. 
 And the clear call of a bird to its mate — 
 Of water sparkling over pebbles. 
 Of wide, wind-swept spaces, sunny vales 
 And hoary peaks, 
 Of dawn and dusk and starlight and — God?. . . 
 
 But then, they have the pavements and the 
 hurdy-gurdy. 
 
 PRESCIENCE 
 
 Today, beloved, when you came home I saw, 
 For the first time, some silver in your hair. 
 And that you stooped a little, and your face 
 Had lines I did not even dream were there. 
 
 When you had kissed me, smiling in my eyes, 
 I tried to smile — but suddenly there grew 
 A strange, cold numbness all about my heart. . . 
 And I could only weep and cling to you. 
 
54 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 SONG 
 
 Life gave me wings today. 
 Swift, vibrant, tipped with fire, 
 Upon them I could soar 
 To dear lands of desire. 
 
 But we will walk instead. 
 My little Love and I — 
 'Tis better two should walk. 
 Than one, alone, should fly. 
 
 DEBT 
 
 'Twas not their love that held the life within me. 
 When half-content, I faintly strove with Death, 
 'Twas not the anguish of their faces lifted. 
 Their shaken breath — 
 
 It was not tear nor prayer of theirs that kept me: 
 It was a sudden flaming thought that thrilled 
 And moved my blood again — a promise given 
 And unfulfilled. 
 
 TRANSFIGURATION 
 
 Love was crucified ... 
 
 We laid him 
 
 In the tomb, 
 
 But even as we mourned 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 55 
 
 He put on immortality. 
 And arose 
 
 And came unto us agam 
 So glorified and radiant. 
 That, questioning, we drew back- 
 Only by the pierced hands 
 We knew him. 
 
 OUT OF DEFEAT 
 
 Out of mysterious space 
 Wind voices come — 
 The night it has a cry 
 But my heart is dumb. 
 
 The stars are eyes that watch 
 Far overhead — 
 The night is a living thing 
 But my heart is dead. 
 
 THE FIELD 
 
 My heart is like a thirsty field 
 Denied the blessed rain. 
 Where withered in the furrow lies 
 The tender, budding grain. 
 
 Each morning to the rosy dawn 
 I look up hopefully. 
 For who can know but God, this day, 
 May send his rain to me. 
 
56 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 DISILLUSION 
 
 I caught young Life against my breast. 
 
 Adorable, divine; 
 
 I cried, *T will not let you go 
 
 For you are mine." 
 
 At first I feared lest she might slip 
 
 Weary of me away, 
 
 But now I dread lest this changed thing 
 
 May choose to stay. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 
 
 And now comes sun-burned Autumn o'er the hills, 
 With trailing robes that sv/eep the fair green 
 
 things. 
 Crimsons and purples in her wake she brings — 
 Life leaps to color as her fancy wills. 
 Lavish of all her splendor, here she spills 
 A bit of scarlet, there a gold gleam flings; 
 The rusty steep to answering beauty springs. 
 Where through the drowsy hours the locust shrills. 
 
 Only the corn-field sere and withered stands, 
 Its tattered shadows woven carpet-wise, 
 A specter of the Summer, stark and pale, 
 Unglorified at Autumn's generous hands. 
 A-down its ragged rows a whisper sighs. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 A sudden shadow, faint and chilly drear. 
 Falls on the hazy landscape like a veil. 
 In vague alarm the saplings bend to hear 
 The footsteps of the Winter drawing near. 
 
 SPRING 
 
 These are the days when hearts must feel 
 
 A stronger quickening, 
 
 For lighted on the foothills burn 
 
 The first green fires of Spring. 
 
 But some there are may never heed 
 The call of earth and skies. 
 But from the prison-house of life 
 Look forth with wistful eyes — 
 
 Far, far beyond the City's pave 
 Where beckon friendly trees, 
 And mountains veil their ancient scars 
 With pale anemones. 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 Upon one crying in the night I came, 
 A tiny, fretful thing without a name. 
 It clasped my neck, it lay upon my breast. 
 Its ceaseless wailing would not let me rest. 
 And cold its little head above my heart — 
 But could I bid so small a guest depart? 
 
58 WITH STAR AND GRASS 
 
 And there it clung and cried till worn and spent, 
 I bared my breast and gave it nourishment. 
 With vampire lips from hour to hour it drew 
 My very life-blood, and so fast it grew. 
 Ere morning broke, the candle on my shelf 
 Showed it of stature equal to myself. 
 
 For weary days I struggled to be free 
 
 Of that cold menace slowly throttling me. 
 
 At last I cried, "O, Fear! I know your name — 
 
 Begone into the darkness whence you came!" 
 
 It loosed its hold and this its feeble cry: 
 
 *'Yea, when men name me boldly, then I die.*' 
 
 THIS IS ENOUGH 
 
 This is enough — to call you friend — to see 
 When at the long day's end I come to you 
 For comradeship and cheer as friends may do, 
 The light leap to your eyes because of me. 
 
 Warm palm to palm in greeting silently. 
 
 The close, strong clasp of unvoiced sympathy — 
 
 With perfect understanding words are few. 
 
 The pleasant room, the shabby chairs that woo 
 With wide, inviting arms; upon your knee 
 Some well-loved volume, thumbed and worn, 
 
 that we 
 Have read together — fire-light and we two — 
 
 This is enough. 
 
WITH STAR AND GRASS 59 
 
 QUATRAIN 
 
 OPine upon the mountain, that ever looks at God, 
 O Pine upon the mountain that sings with 
 stars at night — 
 Sometimes I catch the vision, sometimes I hear 
 
 the song 
 
 And all the Silence trembles, and all the hills 
 grow white. 
 
 ON THE MOUNTAIN 
 
 Although it hides the mountains in its mist, 
 I can be patient with the rain to-day — 
 I know behind the curtain, shut away, 
 God works with gold and green and amethyst. 
 
 And next time that I take the trail I'll go 
 Half-fearful of a presence where I pass. 
 Half-shy of new leaves and of springing grass, 
 And valiant buds that push up through the snow. 
 
tie 
 
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