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SONNETS AND SONGS 
 
SONNETS A^ID SONGS 
 BY ARTh'uR UPSON 
 
 PORTLAND MAINE 
 
 THOMAS B MOSHER 
 
 MDCCCCXI 
 

 COPYRIGHT 
 
 THOMAS B MOSHER 
 
 19II 
 
 OCT 10 1914 
 
 ^CI,A38S13r3 
 
TO 
 
 URSULA 
 
 WHO CHOSE AND ARRANGED 
 
 THIS VERSE 
 
 IT IS INSCRIBED 
 
 WITH LOVE 
 
 A. U. 
 
 Summer, 1908 
 
HIS LOVERS TO ARTHUR UPSON 
 
 We see thee in the clear, aspiring flame 
 On Autumn hearths ; the moon and each white star 
 Restore us thy deep, love-wise smile ; afar 
 About the world red roses breathe thy fame 
 In many gardens ; old rich words proclaim 
 Thee ; music sings thee in each magic bar : 
 And all the rare and lovely things that are 
 Bloom newly now to celebrate thy name. 
 
 And so this world is fairer than before 
 IVith thee in sunset cloud and the blue day. 
 Thou needest not — O Perfect ! — longer stay, 
 But oh, without thee ! — how to win thy lore ? 
 — Yet even Death, for thee, hath shed despair, 
 Dark Death is beautiful now thou art there ! 
 
 RUTH SHEPARD PHELPS 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 AFTER A DOLMETSCH CONCERT . 3 
 
 THE EARTH-ERRAND ... 4 
 
 "vers la vie" .... 5 
 
 phantom life .... 6 
 
 "at the hill's top bides love" 7 
 
 love's patience .... 8 
 
 a motive out of lohengrin . 9 
 
 my song must not forsake me 10 
 
 THE LAKE 11 
 
 ABSENCE AND PRESENCE . . 12 
 A SONG OF LOVE AND YOUR 
 
 DREAMS 13 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF BEAUTY . . 14 
 
 THE TRAGIC WINDS ... 16 
 TO A PICTURE OF MY MOTHER AS 
 
 A GIRL 17 
 
 SONG OF AGAMEDE (FROM "tHE 
 
 CITY") 18 
 
 THE SOBBING WOMAN ... 19 
 
 THE INCURABLES .... 20 
 CHORUS (from "the CITY ") .21 
 
 ARLINGTON 23 
 
 IX 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 BETWEEN HINGHAM AND BRAIN- 
 TREE 
 
 WHEAT ELEVATORS 
 
 FROM "octaves IN AN OXFORD 
 GARDEN" 
 
 MINSTRELS IN BLOOMSBURY . 
 
 THOUGHT OF STEVENSON 
 
 AFTER READING "THE GOLDEN 
 TREASURY" IN THE GREEN 
 PARK 
 
 ON THE LOWER RHINE . 
 
 SOUVENANCE DE LIEGE . 
 
 AFTER READING AN OLD COMEDY 
 
 AFTER READING " AN ITALIAN 
 GARDEN" . 
 
 CHORUS (FROM "tHE CITY") 
 
 golden rod . 
 
 in october 
 
 when roseleaves fall 
 
 springtide of the soul 
 
 "exlibris" 
 
 when the song is done 
 
 24 
 26 
 
 27 
 33 
 34 
 
 35 
 36 
 37 
 38 
 
 39 
 41 
 42 
 43 
 44 
 45 
 47 
 48 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS 
 
This little group of sonnets and songs, 
 chosen from The Collected Poems of 
 Arthur Upson, is almost identical with 
 a selection made at the poet's request a 
 few weeks before the end of his life. It 
 bears the title and the dedication he 
 intended for it. 
 
 Acknowledgment of their kind per- 
 mission to reprint these poems is tendered 
 to Mrs. Julia Claflin Upson, Mr. Ed- 
 mund D. Brooks, and The Bellman. 
 
AFTER A DOLMETSCH CONCERT 
 
 jUT of the conquered Past 
 
 Unravishable Beauty; 
 Hearts that are dew and dust 
 Rebuking the dream of Death ; 
 ^^^ Flower o' the clay down-cast 
 Triumphant in Earth's aroma ; 
 Strings that were strained in rust 
 A-tremble with Music's breath ! 
 
 Wine that was spilt in haste 
 
 Arising in fumes more precious ; 
 Garlands that fell forgot 
 
 Rooting to wondrous bloom ; 
 Youth that would flow to waste 
 
 Pausing in pool-green valleys — 
 And Passion that lasted not 
 
 Surviving the voiceless Tomb ! 
 
THE EARTH-ERRAND 
 
 '' I ""HIS memory-laden star that winds 
 "*■ Through space her wistful ways, 
 Searching for that she yet not finds 
 
 In all her yesterdays — 
 She is a troubled thought whose quest, 
 
 Gone forth among the spheres. 
 Shall never know delight nor rest. 
 
 Nor respite from her fears, 
 But still veer on through void and flame. 
 
 And still expectant yearn, 
 Till, with her prize, to whence she came 
 
 She doth at length return. 
 
 The sun that lends her living light 
 
 To tell her gilded years. 
 The moon that lanterns her at night 
 
 To search among the spheres, 
 The starry hosts that wheel about 
 
 And watch her mazes wind, 
 Serve humbly with nor dread nor doubt 
 
 That she one day will find — 
 That she one day will find the prize 
 
 They sent her forth to earn. 
 And with it through the waiting skies 
 
 Triumphantly return ! 
 
"VERS LA VIE" 
 
 (THE STATUE BY VICTOR ROUSSEAU IN THE 
 PALAIS DES BEAUX ARTS, BRUSSELS) 
 
 A NGEL, hast thou betrayed me ? Long ago 
 -^ ■*- In the Forgotten Land of souls that wait, 
 Thou leddest me to the outward-folding gate, 
 Bidding me live. I leaned into the flow 
 Of earthward-rushing spirits, fain to know 
 What are humanity and human fate 
 Of which the rumor reached to where we sate 
 In our cool, hidden, dreamless ante-glow. 
 But I learn not, and am bewildered here 
 
 To know why thou with seeming-kindly hands 
 Didst let me forth, explorer of a star 
 V^here all is strange, and very often Fear 
 Urges retreat to that Forgotten Land's 
 
 Unthoughtful shores where thou and Silence are ! 
 
PHANTOM LIFE 
 
 1\yTY days are phantom days, each one 
 -*-^-*- The shadow of a hope ; 
 My real life never was begun, 
 Nor any of my real deeds done. 
 
 I live so quietly I know 
 
 There must be many a sun 
 That does not see me as I go 
 Among my shadows to and fro. 
 
AT THE HILL'S TOP BIDES LOVE" 
 
 IXyTlNE is no wayside rose 
 ■^^■^ All may attend : 
 At the hill's top it p:rows, 
 At the road's end. 
 
 Deep in unchidden weeds, 
 
 Rose without stain — 
 
 His soul its beauty feeds 
 Who can attain. 
 
 He who attains thereto 
 
 Faith must disclose 
 Ere he will shake the dew 
 
 Round its repose. 
 
 No pleasant garden-slope 
 
 Waiteth for him — 
 It is to him whose hope 
 
 Stayeth undim. 
 
 Who trusting receives it, 
 
 A faith, in the dale, 
 His hoping achieves it. 
 
 His toil shall avail ! 
 
LOVERS PATIENCE 
 
 T LEARN to lag behind my life's desire 
 -*- That I, impelled not rashly to despair, 
 
 May rather guide still hope to some sweet air 
 Of high achievement where, with statelier fire, 
 Nearer the stars, my passion may aspire ! 
 
 Slow-tongued Experience teaches me to bear 
 
 On lips more patient Love's impatient prayer. 
 With toiling hands to weave my dream's attire ! 
 Yet, oh, when fragrant evening dims the world 
 
 What moon-flames burn in all the lamps of dew ! 
 What lonely roses lift their hearts impearled — 
 
 What silence waits the step and voice of you ! 
 Then, then, all fails ; my empty arms outstart 
 For one brief hour to strain you to my heart ! 
 
A MOTIVE OUT OF LOHENGRIN 
 
 T TNEARTHLY beauty of soft light persuadeth 
 ^^ This castle, which to shadows did belong ; 
 
 And through its farthest vaults sweet, mellow song 
 The silence of my wintry halls upbraideth ; 
 Gently as saffron dawn that smiling fadeth 
 
 The sable, yielding hours, these search along ; 
 
 And with them souls of roses dead — faint throng 
 Of odors of old years that all-pervadeth. 
 Lady, this thing I speak not — do not fear it. 
 
 ' T were more than friendship, yet no better name 
 
 Dares my most grateful heart's allegiance claim 
 Lest this, as I do think, be brother-spirit 
 
 To him, swan-brought to Brabant's castled shore. 
 
 Who, named aloud, was lost forevermore. 
 
MY SONG MUST NOT FORSAKE ME 
 
 ^wTOT mine from thee, loved heart, to feel such tide 
 ^ ^ As this mine own doth pour thee ; 
 Still shall I not go all unsatisfied : 
 Enough that I adore thee. 
 
 And if thou never wakest to my song 
 
 Not weakly shall it falter ; 
 Proudly I pace Love's lonely courts along 
 
 Unto their inmost altar. 
 
 Ah, some day, if, within thy pleasant sleep 
 
 Faint echoes of me find thee, 
 White heart, may dreams be not too fair or deep 
 
 Or soothing to unbind thee ! 
 
 Perchance even then, responding to that sound. 
 
 Thou 'It hail and overtake me, 
 Clearing the idle distance at a bound 
 
 My song must not forsake me ! 
 
 10 
 
THE LAKE 
 
 XX ZHEN in our drifting boat 
 
 ' ^ The early lights salute you 
 Bending to trail your arm 
 
 Where yellow lilies rise, 
 Lifting your full, white throat 
 
 To free its morning music — 
 Then do I dread the charm 
 
 Of your deep and changeful eyes ! 
 
 When, at the night's young hour, 
 
 The first fair planet rises 
 Shaking her petals' gold 
 
 Afar in the fields of air ; 
 When to that flaming flower. 
 
 Lonely, the dim lake answers — 
 Then how my heart grows bold, 
 
 Wishing that you were there ! 
 
 11 
 
ABSENCE AND PRESENCE 
 
 A BSENCE is full of song of you which dies 
 -^ -*- When I, once more, look down within your eyes: 
 I know not why — not one least syllable 
 Reaches your ears, from all I long to tell ! 
 
 Let it be so ! For, in your silence I 
 
 Perceive you spellbound, too; and therein read 
 
 All absent lovely words you ever sigh — 
 
 The selfsame words that fail me in my need. 
 
 12 
 
A SONG OF LOVE AND YOUR 
 DREAMS 
 
 TF Life be the street 
 "■■ Where dreams are sold, 
 Faith is the purse 
 Of exhaustless gold. 
 
 Dreams are a-many, 
 
 Both false and true, 
 But Love's is the home 
 
 You fetch them to; 
 
 And there, all alone 
 With Love, you pour 
 
 The dreams you bought 
 On your chamber floor. 
 
 And when Love looks 
 
 Each packet through. 
 His smile turns all 
 
 The false ones true ! 
 
 13 
 
THE MYSTERY OF BEAUTY 
 
 Tj^OR whom is Beauty? Where no eyes attend 
 ■*• As richly goes the day ; and every dawn 
 
 Reddens along green rivers whereupon 
 None ever gaze. Think, could earth see an end 
 Of all the twilight lovers whose thoughts blend 
 
 With scent of garden blooms they call their own, 
 
 Would not as close the yellowest rose outblown 
 Be, after them, the unmurmurous evening's friend ? 
 Then wherefore Beauty, if in mortal eye 
 
 That loves them stars no challenge read to shine, 
 And all the wonder of a sunset sky 
 
 Wax not more wondrous for such smile as thine ? 
 Why, pray, if not for Love which cannot die — 
 
 This old earth-loving Love of thine and mine ? 
 
 14 
 
II 
 
 When we two from our Summer hills have passed, 
 And Autumn burns beneath thy praise no more, 
 Nor any Winter's raving at our door 
 
 Shuts one within the other's heart more fast; 
 
 Neither Spring's roses learn what lips thou hast — 
 Oh, then this thing called Beauty to its core 
 Our wedded souls shall penetrate before 
 
 One thought unto Eternity is cast ! 
 
 Then shall we know the violet's pretext ; learn 
 More definite a promise of the rose. 
 
 And its fulfilment ; when the maples turn. 
 Be part of all the glory among those ; 
 
 Or help the May with her uncoiling fern. 
 
 And breathe the trillium open where it grows ! 
 
 15 
 
THE TRAGIC WINDS 
 
 T LAY in a rich chamber candle-dim 
 
 -■' And nightlong dreamt awake. The ancient winds 
 
 Like remote music made a dusk of sound : 
 
 Viols throbbing out some earth-impassioned hymn 
 From halls of regal revels and bright sins — 
 Far voices as of love-mad women, crowned, 
 
 Star-gemmed Despairs, the queens of legend lands, 
 Seated within the gateways of their towers. 
 Eyes full of smiles forgotten, unfelt tears 
 
 Uncounted falling in their idle hands 
 
 Which whitely drooped upon their laps like flowers. 
 
 Anteia's sisters these, and Phaedra's feres. 
 
 Methought their murmurs gathered in the night. 
 And all these wretched queens of ancient care 
 Joined faintly their involuntary moan. 
 
 Till pale Aurora passioned toward the light, 
 Slight Cynthia fled adown her brightening stair, 
 And day brought other worlds to rule my own. 
 
 16 
 
TO A PICTURE OF MY MOTHER 
 AS A GIRL 
 
 in\ID ever a youth pass by the spot 
 -*-^ Your fragrance, love, made dear. 
 Without a heart-leap at the lot 
 That drew his fancy near? 
 
 Was ever a maid of fairy stuff 
 
 Like this, in days of old — 
 A rose already fine enough 
 
 Without that heart of gold ! 
 
 17 
 
SONG OF AGAMEDE 
 (from "the city") 
 
 /'^ ROW, grow, thou little tree, 
 ^^ His body at the roots of thee; 
 Since last year's loveliness in death 
 The living beauty nourisheth. 
 
 Bloom, bloom, thou little tree, 
 Thy roots around the heart of me ; 
 Thou canst not blow too white and fair 
 From all the sweetness hidden there. 
 
 Die, die, thou little tree, 
 And be as all sweet things must be ; 
 Deep where thy petals drift I, too, 
 Would rest the changing seasons through. 
 
 18 
 
THE SOBBING WOMAN 
 
 T HEARD a woman sobbing in the night 
 -*- Against a casement high. And as she cried 
 
 Our heartless world's deliberate homicide, 
 Our tragic badinage, our mortal slight 
 Of elemental claims, and the dark plight 
 
 Of the poor I faced there, rigid, open-eyed. 
 
 Across the unechoing street in silence died 
 Her weary moaning. Whether in her sight 
 Some star appeared to soothe her present pain 
 
 With memories sweet, or quiet sleep's strong hand 
 Blunted her keen-edged woe, or other fear 
 Came smothering down too close for sob or tear, 
 
 I could not guess; — some Fate may understand 
 That spins unseen her endless umber skein. 
 
 19 
 
THE INCURABLES 
 
 T ONG up and down I paced the House of Pain ; 
 -*— ' On their white thrones reclined the dwellers there 
 
 In regal reticence and superb despair, j 
 
 Maimed, marred, half blotted out, as they had lain i 
 
 For expiation under the disdain i 
 
 Of Life's great, grinding car; repulsive, fair, \ 
 
 Old, young, loud, gentle, now alike did bear i 
 
 That kingly quiet whereto those attain 
 Whom Life has conquered, and whom Death has smitten 
 
 With the universal Light. Their erstwhile fret 
 Forgotten entire beneath the eternal sun. 
 They lay and read in air the old laws written 
 
 Of silence, and their souls were outward set 
 Where young and old and fair and foul are one. 
 
 20 
 
CHORUS 
 
 (FROM "the city") 
 
 /^F old it went forth to Euchenor, pro- 
 
 ^^ nounced of his sire — 
 
 Reluctant, impelled by the god's unescapable 
 
 fire — 
 To choose for his doom or to perish at home 
 
 of disease 
 Or be slain of his foes, among men, where Troy 
 
 surges down to the seas. 
 
 Polyides, the soothsayer, spake it, inflamed by 
 
 the god. 
 Of his son whom the fates singled out did he 
 
 bruit it abroad ; 
 And Euchenor went down to the ships with his 
 
 armor and men 
 And straightway, grown dim on the gulf, passed 
 
 the isles he passed never again. 
 
 Why weep ye, O women of Corinth ? The 
 
 doom ye have heard 
 Is it strange to your ears, that ye make it so 
 
 mournful a word .? 
 
 21 
 
Is he who so fair in your eyes to his manhood 
 upgrew 
 
 Alone in his doom of pale death — are of mor- 
 tals the beaten so few? 
 
 O weep not, companions and lovers ! Turn 
 back to your joys : 
 
 The defeat was not his, which he chose, nor the 
 victory Troy's. 
 
 Him a conqueror, beauteous in youth, o'er the 
 flood his fleet brought. 
 
 And the swift spear of Paris that slew com- 
 pleted the conquest he sought. 
 
 Not the falling proclaims the defeat, but the 
 place of the fall ; 
 
 And the fate that decrees and the god that 
 impels through it all 
 
 Regard not blind mortals' divisions of slayer 
 and slain. 
 
 But invisible glories dispense wide over the war- 
 gleaming plain. 
 
 22 
 
ARLINGTON 
 
 ]VTO tap of drum nor sound of any horn 
 
 ■^ ^ Shall call them now from this unbattled height ; 
 No more the picket dreads the traitor night, 
 
 Nor would the marcher tired delay the morn. 
 
 Fell some upon the field with victory torn 
 
 From weakening grasp ; and some before the fight, 
 Doomed by slow fevers or the stray shot's spite ; 
 
 And some, old wounds through quiet years have worn. 
 
 And all are folded now so peacefully 
 
 Within her breast whose glory was their dream — 
 From her own sanguine fields, from isles extreme. 
 
 From the long tumult of the land and sea — 
 Where lies the steel Potomac's jewelled stream 
 
 Like the surrendered sword of Memory. 
 
 23 
 
BETWEEN HINGHAM AND 
 BRAINTREE 
 
 (FOR L. C. C.) 
 
 OETWEEN Braintree and Hingham 
 ■*^ Beyond the roaring town, 
 The land shrank into shadow 
 
 As the sun dropped down; 
 The apple-trees were ghostly, 
 
 The peach-trees seemed to bleed, 
 As the train rushed on to Hingham 
 
 With my heart's sore need. 
 
 Between Braintree and Hingham 
 
 The rocks were ashen-grey, 
 The creeks were bare of water, 
 
 And the brown boats lay 
 Tipped in the tideless bottoms 
 
 Without a hope to rise. 
 And all the world grew blacker 
 
 'Neath the low black skies. 
 
 Between Hingham and Braintree 
 As the train leaped on to town, 
 
 The fields were full of sunshine, 
 And heaven came down 
 
 24 
 
And lay along the waters 
 
 That brimmed the grassy flume, 
 And gleamed among the fruit-boughs 
 
 A-burst with bloom ! 
 
 Between Hingham and Braintree 
 
 The rocks were green-bedight, 
 The hilltops were a wondrous 
 
 Arcadian delight; 
 The dories and the catboats 
 
 Danced gaily side by side, 
 And the sails were sheeted silver 
 
 On the full flood tide ! 
 
 25 
 
WHEAT ELEVATORS 
 
 /^^ASTLES, or Titans' houses, or huge fanes 
 ^^ Of ancient gods that yet compel men's fear — 
 
 What powers, what pomps, do these betoken here 
 Looming aloft upon the plough-seamed plains? 
 Souls of ripe seasons, spirits of sweet rains. 
 
 Flock hither; and the sinewy, yellow year 
 
 Heaps their high chambers with Pactolian gear 
 More precious than those golden Lydian grains. 
 Nor fortresses, nor demi-gods' abodes, 
 
 These are upraised to well-feared deities 
 
 Whose power is iron, and whose splendid sway 
 Is undisputed now as when great Rhodes, 
 
 And Tyre, and Carthage, flourished serving these, 
 Or Joseph stored Egyptian corn away. 
 
 26 
 
FROM "OCTAVES IN AN OXFORD 
 GARDEN" 
 
 WADHAM 
 
 '' I ^HE day is like a Sabbath in a swoon. 
 -■- Slow in September's blue go fair cloud-things 
 
 Poising aslant upon their charmed wings, 
 Arrested by some backward thought of June. 
 Softly I tread, and with repentant shoon, 
 
 Half fearfully in sweet imaginings, 
 
 Where broods, like courtyards of departed kings, 
 The old quadrangle paved with afternoon. 
 
 Ill 
 
 There dwells the very soul of quietness, 
 Seclusion's spirit deep within the green, 
 Secure from fame as some unsung demesne 
 
 In far Ionian hills. There waits to bless, 
 
 With her all-healing, mother-soft caress, 
 The Sympathy of Trees, that friend unseen, 
 Soother of moods, on whom all hearts do lean 
 
 Sooner or later, and their cares confess. 
 
 27 
 
IV 
 
 As one whose road winds upward turns his face 
 Unto the valleys where he late hath stood, 
 Leaning upon his staff in peace to brood 
 
 On many a beauty of the distant place, 
 
 So I in this cool garden pause a space, 
 Reviewing many things in many a mood, 
 Accumulating friends in solitude 
 
 From the assembly of my thoughts and days. 
 
 XII 
 
 LOST INHERITANCE 
 
 '' I ''HIS is my lost inheritance. I look 
 -*• With brotherliest affections yearning forth 
 To the flower-bearing sod. Oh, what is worth 
 
 The strange estate of flesh I strangely took ? 
 
 In the soft soil the garden breezes shook 
 
 From the wall chink but now, there 's measure of earth 
 To match my body's dust when its rebirth 
 
 To sod restores old functions I forsook. 
 
 28 
 
XIII 
 
 CISSITUDE 
 
 'TRANGE that a sod for just a thrill or two 
 
 Should ever be seduced into the round 
 Of change wherein its present state is found 
 this my form ! Forsake its quiet, true, 
 id fruitfullest retirement to go through 
 The heat, the strain, the languor, and the wound. 
 Forget soft rain to hear the stormier sound, 
 :change for burning tears its peaceful dew ! 
 
 XIV 
 
 .D SONG AND A RIVER 
 
 T was the lip of murmuring Thames along 
 
 When new lights sought the woods all strangely fair. 
 Such quiet lights as saints transfigured wear 
 minster windows crept the woods among. 
 id far as from some hazy hill, yet strong, 
 Methought an upland shepherd piped it there, 
 Rousing a silvern echo in her lair : 
 Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song.^^ 
 
 29 
 
XV 
 
 My Spenser lay the dewy grass upon, 
 His pages shone before me as I read — 
 Like the gold daisies gleaming round his bed 
 
 His lantern verses upward to me shone. 
 
 End never yet his song's rich note hath known ; 
 "Sweet Thames" ran softly by his burthen sped, 
 And shall, while hymns are sung and prayers are said, 
 
 Low chanting his glad Prothalamion. 
 
 XXI 
 
 ST. PAUL'S 
 
 /^NE time from that grey close I did emerge 
 ^■^ Wherethrough I had been toiling, and to me, 
 
 Like some benignant rock above the sea, 
 St. Paul's great brow above the mist and surge 
 Loomed kindly, and methought did kmdly urge 
 
 All men up to it, till there came to be 
 
 A hush on hearts, a deep tranquillity 
 Of healing virtue, round the minster's verge. 
 
 30 
 
XXV 
 
 ROMAN GLASSWARE PRESERVED IN THE 
 ASHMOLEAN 
 
 T7AIR crystal cups are dug from earth's old crust, 
 
 -*- Shattered but lovely ; for, at price of all 
 Their shameful exile from the banquet-hall, 
 
 They have been bargaining beauties from the dust. 
 
 So, dig my life but deep enough, you must 
 
 Find broken friendships round its inner wall — 
 Which once my careless hand let slip and fall — 
 
 Brave with faint memories, rich in rainbow-rust. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 LIFE'S USURPATION 
 
 '' I ""ELL them, sweet evening breeze poised here, no less 
 -■- I love their memory whom thou goest to greet 
 Out there at heaven's gate, but that I meet 
 
 Less oft the idle thoughts of old distress. 
 
 Tell them the thought of them still lives to bless. 
 But since I learned how much, despite defeat, 
 My life demands that I shall make complete, 
 
 I must yield up my cherished loneliness. 
 
 31 
 
XXVII 
 
 TRACES 
 
 COMETHING of sorrow am I not denied — 
 
 ^ Share of the earth's old, universal pain 
 I own, — though but as hillsides own the rain, 
 
 Or solid sands the long wave's stroking side. 
 
 Still, though no rains upon the steep may bide, 
 And harmlessly the sea-floods rise and wane. 
 The downward torrent-traces do remain. 
 
 And sands bear record of the sedulous tide. 
 
 XXXII 
 
 He is no lover of the sea who loses 
 Sound of her voices, inland wandering. 
 Still should her old melodious mystery spring 
 
 Around him, wend he wheresoe'er he chooses; 
 
 And so within me rhythmic life refuses 
 By any other pulse than yours to swing. 
 Far from your friendship's ocean though I sing 
 
 Where the hills tire and the rough pathway bruises. 
 
 32 
 
MINSTRELS IN BLOOMSBURY 
 
 ^TT^O Covent Garden people stream 
 
 -*- To drink the music there ; 
 Upon the curb we stay to dream 
 
 With melody more rare : 
 Sing on, enchanted minstrel-girl, 
 Thou artless, young, and fair ! 
 
 The 'busses in Southampton Row, 
 The jingling hansoms here. 
 
 Bear London, heedless, to and fro 
 In search of evening cheer : 
 
 For us thou art enough, dear voice 
 Forgetful-sweet and clear ! 
 
 Our daylong toil but goes to win 
 
 Another toilsome day; 
 Play on, oblivious violin ! 
 
 Soft harp, beseech thee, play ! 
 And thou, pale girl with eyes aflame. 
 
 Sing on for us who stay ! 
 
 33 
 
THOUGHT OF STEVENSON 
 
 TTiGH and alone I stood on Calton Hill 
 "■■ -*■ Above the scene that was so dear to him 
 
 Whose exile dreams of it made exile dim. 
 October wooed the folded valleys till 
 In mist they blurred, even as our eyes upfill 
 
 Under a too-sweet memory ; spires did swim, 
 
 And gables rust-red, on the grey sea's brim — 
 But on these heights the air was soft and still. 
 Yet not all still : an alien breeze will turn 
 
 Here, as from bournes in aromatic seas, 
 As round old shrines a new-freed soul might yearn 
 
 With incense of rich earthly reveries. 
 Vanish the isles: Mist, exile, searching pain, 
 But the brave soul is free, is home again ! 
 
 34 
 
AFTER READING "THE GOLDEN 
 TREASURY" IN THE GREEN PARK 
 
 /^FF Piccadilly with its pavement cries, 
 
 ^^ Its maddening monotone of wheel and hoof, 
 
 In the Green Park primeval Summer lies, 
 
 How near, how yearning, yet how far aloof ! 
 O city, symbol of a world that still 
 
 Heedless of beauty under heaven rolls ; 
 And thou, blithe meadow all with larks athrill 
 
 Like Poetry, that pasture of great souls — 
 Ye twain, so sundered, shall forever dwell, 
 
 A tumult and a blessing side by side : 
 Here, as to toil-worn Argo once befell 
 
 A singing island on a thundering tide. 
 Where men might stretch them out in glad release. 
 We too, much-wandering, hail this hour of peace ! 
 
 35 
 
ON THE LOWER RHINE 
 
 (DUSSELDORF, HEINE'S BIRTHPLACE) 
 
 T3 Y Diisseldorf the singing Rhine-Stream bends, 
 ^^ Age-wonted from his earlier lyric tone : 
 
 A master-singer somewhat pensive grown, 
 In more of epic stateliness he wends 
 Where Youth, in memory only, still attends 
 
 With foregone passions, raptures long since flown; 
 
 So sweeps he down from Minster-crowned Cologne, 
 And to the silent, level sea descends. 
 Not such, O Heine, thy mad stream of song ! 
 
 Though now beyond our fitful ocean's hem 
 The eternal tide of beauty harbor thee, 
 Thou fleddest the broken crags of life along. 
 
 Beating white flowers of foam out over them, 
 And passionately soughtest thy mother-sea ! 
 
 36 
 
SOUVENANCE DE LI£GE 
 
 (NOVEMBER) 
 
 /^^ REY city by the silver Meuse, I fling 
 
 ^^ One precious day to thee of my brief days ; 
 
 Take it, and give remembrance : Mellow praise 
 Of chimes across a moonlit evening, 
 Rain of light echoes ; the full, wavy swing 
 
 Of burdened barges down thy waterways — 
 
 Noise nearest music; the blue, holy haze 
 And perfume of old altars ; wing on wing 
 Of iridescent doves descending soft 
 
 Within a Gothic gate where one strews bread 
 For alms to the air's beggars ; beyond her, 
 Arcades recessive, pinnacles aloft, 
 
 November's vista deepening to one blur 
 
 Of blue-and-grey behind her upturned head. 
 
 37 
 
AFTER READING AN OLD COMEDY 
 
 (FOR H. A. B.) 
 
 T CLOSE the book, thee in it, gentle mime, 
 -*■ In undisturbed seclusion hid away 
 
 'Twixt dulled moroccos where shall none gainsay 
 Thine obvious humor of a simpler time : 
 So an old grandsire's chimney-corner rime, 
 
 Secure in smiles of those who love him, may 
 
 Never on cold, unkindred hearing play. 
 But live alway its crisp and mirthful prime. 
 There waits bold, pleasant wit all undismayed, 
 
 Unconscious of this devious age of ours. 
 Forever alien to our sighs and tears ; 
 And there the sweep of fair, antique brocade. 
 
 The undying perfume of forgotten flowers. 
 And laughter ringing faintly from old years. 
 
 38 
 
AFTER READING "AN ITALIAN 
 GARDEN" 
 
 (FOR R— ) 
 
 ^T~^0 him no more an inward hate 
 -■- Shall speak, nor aught but beauty sing, 
 
 Who walks within this Garden late 
 And hears the fountain murmuring. 
 
 A vestige of some other day 
 
 Once lived, but dim-remembered now, 
 Goes in the moon's familiar way 
 
 Beneath the stately ilex-bough. 
 
 The parterre — I but half forget — 
 The Tuscan melancholy night — 
 
 Too faintly I regain them, yet 
 
 Too keenly to have lost them quite. 
 
 Was I the Other of some song 
 
 That many a year hath left the lips 
 
 Of her who walks alone along 
 
 The water where the Triton dips? 
 
 And she — how her rispetti claim 
 The sad, bewildered heart of me 
 
 That ever almost-saith her name, 
 Yet loseth it continually ! 
 
 39 
 
Slow moving down the marble stair, 
 Or leaned on sculptured balustrade, 
 
 Her face is shadowed by her hair. 
 Her arms are buried in its shade. 
 
 Oh, would she lift that face, or free 
 Those hidden hands, I know that soon 
 
 My faint, old faded Italy 
 
 Again might blossom to the moon ! 
 
 40 
 
CHORUS 
 
 (FROM "the city") 
 
 TCPGINA'S foam is high and wild 
 A. J—/ Where Pan immortal sits enisled 
 But thou and I with flying oar 
 Seek Psyttaleia's sacred shore. 
 
 The City of the Violet Crown 
 Well knows that rocky island's frown ; 
 But thou and I together learned 
 What fires upon her altars burned. 
 
 Oh, many a sail goes gleaming there 
 Bound for some olive-garden fair ; 
 But thou and I made fast to her 
 And found her cypress lovelier. 
 
 The shrines of Aphrodite lift 
 Their smoke in every village-rift ; 
 But thou and I remote from man 
 Propitiate the woodland Pan. 
 
 41 
 
GOLDEN ROD 
 
 DOUBTLESS 't was here we walked but yesterday, 
 Seeing not any beauty save the green 
 Of meadows, or, where slipt the brook between, 
 
 A ribbon of blue and silver; yet the way , j 
 
 Is strange : in golden paths I seem astray. 
 Do you remember, comrade, to have seen 
 Aught forward in these meadows that should mean ■ 
 
 A culmination in such fair display? 
 
 We noticed not the humble stalks amid 
 The many roadside grasses ; but, it seems, 
 They were preparing this ! And, when their dreams 
 
 Were ripe for doing, they could no more be hid 
 Than golden thoughts that bloom to action when 
 Their hearts make heroes out of common men. i 
 
 42 
 
IN OCTOBER 
 
 '' I HE maples their old sumptuous hues resume 
 -*- Around the woodland pool's bright glass, and strong 
 The year's blue incense and recession-song 
 
 Sweep over me their music and perfume. 
 
 Dear Earth, that I reproached thee in my gloom 
 I would forget, as thou forgott'st ; I long 
 To make redress for such a filial wrong 
 
 And praise thee now for all thy ruddy bloom ! 
 
 So fond a mother to be used so ill ! 
 
 Yet this poor heart of mine hath ever been 
 Prey to its own unwarranted alarms — 
 
 Shall fret, and beg forgiveness so, until 
 Thou fold my thankless body warmly in. 
 And draw me back into thy loving arms. 
 
 43 
 
WHEN ROSELEAVES FALL 
 
 WHEN roseleaves fall in evenings cold 
 To mingle with their mother mold, 
 Look to it lest thy heart be set 
 To seek strange blossoms and forget 
 Thy roses and their sway of old. 
 
 Run not to lesser blooms ! nor fold 
 Unto thy heart the creed those hold 
 Who stand like Stoics by and let 
 Their roseleaves fall ! 
 
 But gather them as precious gold ; 
 Rich-spiced, high-placed and orient-bowled, 
 
 They shall be Summer to thee yet. 
 
 What though they fade and thou regret, 
 Thou canst make theirs a boon untold 
 When roseleaves fall. 
 
 44 
 
SPRINGTIDE OF THE SOUL 
 (FOR R. B.) 
 
 ^T~^HE flesh to fragrant whitening of the bough, 
 -*- Full-flooding fields, and softening sod, doth yearn; 
 The spirit will to Autumn's wooing burn. 
 
 And to October is her tenderest vow : 
 
 October, Springtide of the soul ! What now 
 May I compare to raptures that return 
 When round thine auburn hair these eyes discern 
 
 First the wild, purple berries kiss thy brow ? 
 
 My soul bends to thee, as a waiting bride. 
 
 Long from her maiden chamber searching far, 
 Doth see, at last, beneath the vesper star, 
 
 Her sunset lover toward her castle ride : 
 
 She flings her evening casement open wide. 
 
 And leans out through the trembling lattice-bar. 
 Then, turning, sets her chamber door ajar. 
 
 And flies back to the crimsoning windowside. 
 
 "Submit thyself to Beauty," cry the lords 
 Of this Autumnal pageant : day-end skies 
 That dwell in calm, like love-remembered eyes — 
 And the dim dusk of topaz-golden hoards 
 Streaking the forest like old painted words 
 
 45 
 
Fading along some saint's-page fair and wise 
 And windy rivers whose mingled voices rise 
 To smite rich, vibrant, melancholy chords. 
 
 Friend of my heart ! Among the Autumn trees 
 We walk together baring thought to thought 
 Of this vast symbol-earth wherein lie wrought 
 
 Hints of immortal dreams and destinies ! 
 
 And you and I are part of all of these ! 
 
 Ourselves mysterious emblems, tones half-caught 
 From voices far, wherein our souls have sought 
 
 Deep meanings, silent, 'mid earth's melodies. 
 
 46 
 
"EX LIBRIS" 
 
 TN an old book at even as I read 
 
 -■' Fast fading words adown my shadowy page, 
 I crossed a tale of how, in other age, 
 
 At Arqua, with his books around him, sped 
 
 The word to Petrarch ; and with noble head 
 Bowed gently o'er his volume that sweet sage 
 To Silence paid his willing seigniorage. 
 
 And they who found him whispered, "He is dead !*' 
 
 Thus timely from old comradeships would I 
 To Silence also rise. Let there be night. 
 
 Stillness, and only these staid watchers by, 
 
 And no light shine save my low study light — 
 
 Lest of his kind intent some human cry 
 Interpret not the Messenger aright. 
 
 47 
 
WHEN THE SONG IS DONE 
 
 TX/HEN the song is done 
 
 * ^ And his heart is ashes, 
 Never praise the Singer 
 
 Whom you, silent, heard. 
 What to him the sound ? 
 
 What your eyes' fond flashes ? 
 When the singing 's over 
 
 Say no word ! 
 
 Ye who darkling stood, 
 
 Think, your noon of praises, 
 Can it glimmer down 
 
 To his deepset bower? 
 Never round him shone 
 
 Once your garden-mazes : 
 Now his wandering 's over 
 
 Bring no flower ! 
 
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