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 .195 T6 
 ^ 1915 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIIi 
 
Painting and verse by Theodore L. Fitz Simons 
 
 NOCTURNE 
 Dark poplars that soar, shadowing the sky; 
 
 A crescent moon against the gloaming west, 
 Painting with path of pearl the river's breast 
 That 'twixt their ebon trunks doth gleaming lie. 
 
TO 
 ONE FROM ARCADY 
 
 and Other Poems 
 
 THEODORE Lf FITZ SIMONS 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH ^ COMPANY 
 
 1915 
 
T6 ^^-'* 
 
 COPTRIGHT, 1915 
 ShEEMAN, FbENCH & Ck)MPANT 
 
 DEC 17 1915 
 
 ©CLA416940 
 
TO 
 
 ALL WHO HAVE HEARD AND 
 OBEYED THE CALL OF PAN 
 
 AND TO 
 
 my friend 
 william muller bayne 
 
 (painter, poet, and member op the 
 
 PAVLOWA ballet) TO WHOM I OWE MY 
 awakening to SELFHOOD IN BRAHM 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To One from Arcady: Sonnet-Sequence . 1 
 
 To One from Arcady: Lyric-Sequence . 15 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 The Song of Dawn 33 
 
 The Sea Enchanted 36 
 
 An April Violet 37 
 
 Moon Magic 38 
 
 The Sleeping Faun 39 
 
 Hast Thou Not Grief? . . . . . .41 
 
 Fate 43 
 
 Adoration 44 
 
 The Unseen Sculptor 45 
 
 Prayer to Brahm 46 
 
 The Ballad of a Nun 47 
 
 To Brahma 51 
 
 The Prince of Peace 52 
 
 Una Ars 53 
 
 Vox Maris 55 
 
TO ONE FROM ARCADY 
 
 SONNET-SEQUENCE 
 
PRELUDE 
 
 I 
 
 They say that once this sad old world was young. 
 When men were like to gods and knew no cares, 
 Nor grief, nor weariness of passing years ; 
 When in their hands hope was a bow new-strung. 
 All thought of death unto the winds was flung, 
 For death was then as sleep; men knew not tears 
 Save those which spring from j oy, nor of despairs, — 
 It was the age when sweet Apollo sung. 
 Imagination with unbounded flight 
 Soared heavenward, and Love then reigned supreme. 
 Fancy found nymphs and satyrs in each glade; 
 The seer Faith in many a tranced dream 
 Found revelations in the world's dawn light. 
 Nor of his heaven-sent visions was afraid. 
 
 II 
 
 Would that that Golden Age could come again. 
 And men fling off their robe, hypocrisy. 
 And walk in God-like innocence, and be 
 
 Like gods, unknowing sin or shame or stain; 
 
 That naught which is called knowledge should remain 
 Of good or evil. Then unconsciously 
 Would men with Nature move in harmony, — 
 
 Obey the compelling music of her strain! 
 
 Would that Prometheus with his stolen fire 
 
 From heaven had ne'er descended on the Earth, 
 
 Nor unto men the withheld mysteries taught. 
 
 Giving them thirst which was to end in dearth. 
 
 Nor in their hearts had put a wild desire. 
 
 To reach out for the Infinite through thought. 
 
 [1] 
 
Sometimes I dreamed you came from Arcady, — 
 That you have lain upon the golden lawns 
 In drowsy noontides with bronze-breasted 
 fauns, 
 Or mingled in their moonlight revelry, 
 Danced 'mid the sapphire hills which girt the 
 sea; 
 That you have seen from out the reedy grass 
 A pearl-limbed naiad loom (with hair like 
 brass ) 
 Flecked by the sun and shadows' tracery ! 
 
 Aye, still the forest fragrance cleaves and clings 
 To your brown body and your perfumed 
 
 hair; 
 Still in your movement lurks wild woodland 
 grace 
 Of wind-stirred poplars (that make leafy lair 
 For startled dryads when the satyr sings) ; 
 Still you bring visions of each God-loved 
 place ! 
 
 [2] 
 
II 
 
 My yearning for you is not mean and low, 
 Nor reeks it of the sloughs of dark desire, 
 But is a torch that lit my soul with fire 
 Of Love until my heart flushed, all aglow 
 With a great warmth that it did never know. 
 You were the passionate wind and I the lyre ; 
 Your sweet breath swept my chords and did 
 inspire 
 Lyrics of love, and made wild words to flow. 
 You are the springtime of my life, — the strong, 
 Sweet-scented youth, — the source of primal 
 things, — 
 All things in life that I have loved and missed. — 
 You, dryad-like, shall live a thousand 
 
 springs, 
 A thousand springs of love and youth and 
 song. 
 And who could leave your lips untouched, — un- 
 kissed.'^ 
 
 [3] 
 
Ill 
 
 Candid you are, and honey-sweet withal, — 
 O tempting fruit that Love cannot resist, 
 Smelhng of juicy grapes by hot suns kissed 
 
 In tropic islands where the wild vines crawl, 
 
 O'ermantling some gray Spanish mission wall 
 Raised high above a sea of amethyst. 
 Where only winds and waves keep amorous 
 tryst 
 
 On moon-charmed nights, and softly rise and 
 faU. 
 
 Yet ofttimes with the quivering of your lids. 
 Or with the sphinx-like mystery of your smile. 
 You hint of memories of more ancient time, — 
 
 Of moonless nights among the pyramids, 
 Blue lotus lilies on the gleaming Nile, — 
 Of golden deserts in a burning clime. 
 
 [4] 
 
IV 
 
 Yes, I have loved and known you long ago, — 
 In other lands, in other lives than this ; 
 And I have burned beneath your perfumed 
 kiss 
 
 Within some vine-clad Spanish patio. 
 
 The white Alhambra, in the afterglow. 
 
 Shone far above dark forests, — oh, the bliss 
 Of that brief moment I shall ever miss. 
 
 For then you loved me, — -yet, alas, I know 
 
 That now the times are changed, and I am mad ; 
 The gods have mocked me in my latest birth, 
 I wear a strange disguise to hide my heart, — 
 
 They've stripped me of the beauty that I had. 
 And make me now the scorn of all the earth. 
 And set me from thy clasp now far apart. 
 
 [5] 
 
You left my life a lonely, vacant room, 
 
 Without one taper burning that could light 
 The inner darkness, or dispel the night, — 
 
 Without one gleam of hope that might illume; 
 
 Yet in the empty chamber the perfume 
 
 Of your sweet presence lingers, and your 
 
 sprite 
 Still lurks behind, though you are lost to 
 sight. 
 
 I feel that you are near me in the gloom ; 
 
 Why did you ever enter thus, — oh, why 
 Abide so brief a space, and then depart. 
 Stealing your queenly beauty from my 
 
 mind, — 
 The figure that shall haunt me till I die, 
 
 Leaving the desolate chamber of my heart ! 
 
 Love, dear Love, you know it was unkind ! 
 
 [6] 
 
VI 
 
 My life henceforth is pale and colorless, — 
 A tattered piece of tapestry once wove 
 In vivid hues by hands of Fate and Love, 
 Now wept on by the tears of blind Distress. 
 Though the design hath faded, one might guess 
 The import of strange forms that seem to 
 
 move; 
 And one lithe figure, traced the rest above. 
 Though dimmed by time, hath left its strong 
 
 impress. 
 A jocund Bacchus seems he or a faun; 
 
 Grape-clustered chaplets his dark brows en- 
 twine. 
 And his broad, naked shoulders ; 
 He, forsooth, 
 Is one of Pan's mad revellers. The tawn 
 
 Of his brown body glows against the vine, — 
 O last of all my pagan dreams of youth! 
 
 m 
 
VII 
 
 Thy voice is soft and luscious as the tone 
 Of purple shadow on an amber beach, — 
 So upon gleaming silence glows thy speech, 
 Or as the sea that storms the virgin zone 
 Of a walled coast until its waves are thrown 
 So ceaselessly they make a sudden breach 
 Through which its amorous arms rush in and 
 reach 
 The white breast of the coast. Even so thine 
 
 own 
 Sweet-tempting, Southern tongue hath stormed 
 my soul, 
 And wave by wave each rippling syllable 
 Hath left its fatal imprint on my mind 
 Until the breach was made, — and lo, the goal 
 Of thy desire was thine, — the strong walls 
 
 fell,— 
 Thine arms had clasped mine arms for which 
 I pined. 
 
 [8] 
 
VIII 
 
 That which is slowly wakening in you, 
 
 In vain I soothe to sleep within my soul, — 
 In vain I break away from all control, 
 From all that I had learned, from all I knew. 
 Of good and evil. — God, then, is it true 
 That you have read at last the secret scroll 
 Of life, and that you, too, must pay the toll 
 Of all who find that terrible, dark clue? 
 Are you awakening to a sense of sin, — 
 
 The fatal knowledge of the right from 
 
 wrong, — 
 While I have sought to sink to sleep in vain? 
 Shall I not tread those paths you wandered 
 in, — 
 Those care-free, woodland ways of joy and 
 
 song, — 
 And shall you, too, be doomed to taste the 
 pain ? 
 
 m 
 
IX 
 
 The weary hours of toil at last are told, — 
 
 And peace breathes, while the day in splendor 
 dies ; 
 
 In the last gleam a silent sea-tern flies 
 With light-reflected wings. Oh, now behold 
 The expanse of heaven glowing fold on fold, 
 
 Wave-mirrored where the rose-flushed water 
 lies; 
 
 The sunset, subtle alchemist of the skies. 
 Turning the western clouds to burning gold ! 
 
 Thus when the soul's brief pilgrimage shall end, 
 And we at last shall stand at the sea's marge 
 To bid farewell to aU we love and know, — 
 
 To watch our dear sun radiant descend 
 
 Before we pass as yon mist-hidden barge, — 
 May life reflect such heavenly afterglow! 
 
 [10] 
 
To hear your voice again, to touch your hand, 
 To look in your dark eyes, behold your face 
 (Molded by joy, where grief hath left no 
 trace), 
 Yet know that you can never understand 
 How much I loved you, how your beauty fanned 
 My starved heart into passion by its grace, — 
 God knows I cannot bear this lonely place, 
 But I must follow you from land to land, 
 To be with you, no matter if your scorn 
 Pierces me to the heart, — only to be 
 A servant in your house, so I am near 
 My own beloved, and from dusk till dawn 
 To wait upon you ever ceaselessly, 
 With sacrifice that never sheds a tear. 
 
 [11] 
 
XI 
 
 This was my dream, — in some far Southern isle 
 Crowned by dark palms, beside the turquoise 
 
 sea, 
 Upon the saffron sand to lie with thee. 
 
 Gazing far out to billowy mile on mile ; 
 
 Betimes to watch the swift, elusive smile 
 
 Light up your features when you turned to me, 
 Or feel the warm wind playing wantonly 
 
 With your soft curls as there we dreamed the 
 while. 
 
 Forgetful of the world, — at last set free ! 
 
 Roaming light-clad the shores, and hand in 
 
 hand, 
 Or mingling with the surf's broad gleaming 
 
 tide, — 
 We, too,! — alone on that far tropic strand, — 
 We two made one, whom Fate should not di- 
 vide, — 
 This was my dream. Alas, it could not be ! 
 
 im 
 
TO ONE FROM ARCADY 
 
 LYRIOSEQUENCE 
 
Thou art the image of my dear desires, 
 Sacred to all my longing after youth ; 
 
 For thee alone still burn those unquenched fires 
 Of passion that have filled my heart with ruth. 
 
 While I, a votary at thine altar lying, 
 
 Gazing at thee, would clasp thy shining feet, 
 Yet know within my heart that they are dy- 
 ing,— 
 Those fires which once had warmed me with 
 their heat. 
 
 Thou hast all that which my vain, futile yearn- 
 ing 
 Can never beckon back from the past years, — 
 Beauty and strength and youth within thee 
 burning, 
 While I have only left the gift of tears. 
 
 [15] 
 
II 
 
 Why did you come so late in life, — 
 
 Love, O wild Desire ; 
 Why came you not when the time was rife, 
 
 When youth was a burning fire? 
 
 Why came you not when the days were sweet, 
 
 O Love, O wild Desire ; 
 When my arms were strong and my feet were 
 fleet. 
 
 And life was a joy entire? 
 
 But you came, you came, so late, — oh, so 
 late, — 
 
 O Love, O wild Desire ; 
 And in vain, oh, in vain, do I curse my fate. 
 And call Youth back through the closing gate 
 With a voice that is wild and passionate 
 
 As the sound of a wind-swept lyre ! 
 
 [16] 
 
Ill 
 
 Liquid voice and almond eyes, 
 Lips that are pomegranate-red, 
 Supple figure serpentine. 
 Limbs where love's warm incense lies. 
 Faun-like poise of throat and head, — 
 Beauty that is strong as wine, — 
 Hath my suave, gay Argentine. 
 
 [HI 
 
IV 
 
 If you should come and stand beside my bed 
 When I He cold and breathless, free from pain ; 
 If you stooped down and touched me, lying 
 
 dead, — 
 God knows my heart would throb with life again, 
 My body then would burn with passion's fire. 
 And my soul thirst with unassuaged desire. 
 
 [18] 
 
To love Life less and less, yet dread Death 
 
 more; 
 To be as one who on a lonely shore 
 Gazes far out to sea, where o'er the verge 
 A lit sail sinks athwart the shining surge ; 
 To bid farewell to Youth, yet still endure ; 
 To dwell in memory, yet feel the lure 
 And strain of passionate tides that still would 
 
 urge 
 Thy soul to breast their billows when too late 
 It is to venture forth on pleasuring; 
 To wake in Autumn at the call of Spring, 
 Yet know no buds will break, or sweet birds sing ; 
 To stand bereft of beauty and to wait 
 Till Death shall meet thee by the unseen 
 
 gate ; — 
 To know all this, while still remembering 
 How Youth sped by ere you had caught his 
 
 wing, — 
 O God, this is to feel the curse of Fate. 
 
 [19] 
 
VI 
 
 Heart to heart and hand in hand, 
 Love, let us wander over the world. 
 
 Now that mad Spring is abroad in the land. 
 Yonder, oh, yonder, her blossoms uncurled 
 
 Beckon us each, with a small white hand. 
 To ponder, and wander over the world, 
 
 {The world is wide and the ways are free 
 But they lead us at last, Christ, from Thee) 
 To seek the trails that our childhood knew, — 
 
 The dear, dim paths that our feet have lost, — 
 While the prodigal Dawn scatters diamonds of 
 
 dew 
 On the sward that in winter shone white with his 
 
 frost, — 
 The flower-sweet paths that we ever pursue 
 For the dreams that have vanished and hopes 
 
 that we lost ! 
 {Christ of my childhood' s piety. 
 Look down from heaven and pity me!) 
 
 For when Spring returneth, the gods return ; 
 And Repentance' white robe of the winter is 
 cast 
 From the fields ; while the bodies of all things 
 
 burn 
 With joy that is present and pain that is past 
 When Pan the piper with musical blast 
 £20] 
 
Thrills on the reeds till they tremble at last 
 Where the river-quiver their semblance hath 
 
 glassed 
 For him who hearkeneth the gods' return. 
 (Christ, pale Christ, I would think on Thee, 
 But Pan's mad pipes will not let me be. ) 
 
 When Spring awakeneth, the gods come back 
 To their ancient reign on the hills and leas ; 
 And he who searcheth, beholdeth the track 
 Where the satyrs have danced, and the nymphs 
 
 with these, — 
 Where the laughing fauns all the livelong day 
 Pelted their mates with young buds of May, 
 While dryads gazed shyly from neighboring 
 
 trees : 
 To him who believeth the gods come back. 
 (Christ, dear Christ, I would none but Thee; — 
 But the nymphs and fauns, — ■ how they call to 
 
 me!) 
 
 Therefore, Love, let us wander away, — 
 
 Through the glad green coasts to the opal sea 
 
 Where the shrill gulls whirl on wide wings of 
 
 gray, 
 
 Where the winds rejoice in the joy of the free. 
 
 While the Tritons and Nereids gleam through 
 
 the spray. 
 For Demeter hath found her Persephone. 
 (Christ, dear Christ, I would none but Thee, — 
 But, oh, the voice of Persephone!) 
 [21] 
 
Heart to heart and hand in hand, 
 Love, let us wander over the world, 
 
 Now that wild Spring is abroad in the land, — 
 Yonder, oh, yonder, her blossoms unfurled. 
 
 Beckons us each, a pale, palpitant hand. 
 To ponder, and wander over the world. 
 
 [22] 
 
VII 
 
 I saw the ruddy figure of the Dawn, — 
 
 A shining shape, — 
 Crushing the purple clouds ; he seemed as one 
 
 Who treads the grape ; 
 
 Wherefrom there burst, as from the grape- 
 stained lees, 
 A precious wine 
 That flooded all the thirsting flowers and 
 trees, — 
 The red sunshine. 
 
 [23] 
 
VIII 
 
 We die in lands we leave behind : 
 Through each deserted street 
 
 Our spirits wander in the wind, 
 And where have trod our feet 
 
 We haunt the old familiar town ; 
 
 We tread with soundless beat 
 The pavement where we laugh and frown, 
 
 And strive in vain to greet 
 Familiar faces to us fled, — 
 That know us not, now we are dead! 
 
 [24] 
 
IX 
 
 Ah, Love, for an isle 
 Where blue heaven's smile 
 
 Is reflected in all things round ; 
 Where the orange blossom blows. 
 And the scent of the rose 
 
 On the wandering zephyrs abound ; 
 Where the white cloud dreams, 
 And the bright sunbeams 
 
 Lie reflected in all things round ; — 
 
 And thither to flee, 
 Far over the sea. 
 
 To that beautiful, long-loved land 
 Where hope is new-strung. 
 And the heart free and young. 
 
 As the terns that wing over the sand. 
 And never could sin 
 Or grief enter in 
 
 To that beautiful long-loved land, 
 
 Nor God to perplex 
 Nor man come to vex. 
 
 That beautiful islet of peace 
 With his white-winged sails 
 Set unto the gales. 
 
 But here should all sacrilege cease. 
 Thus never could sin 
 Nor death enter in 
 
 To that beautiful islet of peace. 
 [25] 
 
Every dawn you should drink 
 At the fountain's cool brink, 
 
 Like the nymphs in the legends of yore ; 
 Where the fleet dolphins play 
 In the silvery spray, 
 
 We would run on the shining seashore. 
 What would the world give 
 To live as we'd live, 
 
 Like nymphs in the legends of yore ? 
 
 Aurora should rise 
 
 In the amber-tint skies, 
 
 With her sandaled feet set on the seas ; 
 On rainbow wing 
 She should soar, and fling 
 
 Her tresses to the wafting breeze. 
 And, oh, the delight 
 Of her swift, golden flight, 
 
 With her perfumed breath on the seas. 
 
 And each flower should look up. 
 With its dew-brimming cup. 
 
 From the fields and the smooth, green leas ; 
 And the waving woodbine 
 Would gently entwine 
 
 While it wooed with the whispering trees. 
 And, oh, the delight 
 Of morn's glorious flight 
 
 To the blossoms and glad, green leas. 
 
 [26] 
 
And all the day long, 
 
 With laughter and song, 
 
 Where the live oaks linger and bend. 
 Would I wreathe thee with flowers 
 Till the shining-winged hours 
 
 Of daylight should come to an end. 
 And, oh, with what love 
 Would we wander and rove. 
 
 Where the live oaks linger and bend. 
 
 Till the Sunset should spread 
 His flushed wings overhead. 
 
 Where the western waters lie calm, 
 Until at his kiss 
 They blush with such bliss. 
 
 As you blush when we kiss 'neath the palm. 
 Then at heaven's gate 
 With rapture they wait, 
 
 Rose-flushed, foam-girdled, nor calm. 
 
 Till a single faint star 
 Should gleam from afar. 
 
 And the happy winged hours have end. 
 And Vesper should close 
 The day to repose. 
 
 And the twilight of heaven descend. 
 And the shadows we love 
 Come down from above 
 
 When the sunny-winged hours have end. 
 
 [27] 
 
Then singing no more 
 On the surgeless seashore, 
 
 We would watch the quiet-rimmed moon 
 Come up from the waves 
 Where nightly she laves 
 
 While the winds set the ripples atune. 
 Thus sweetly caressed 
 Thou should sink on my breast 
 
 To sleep 'neath the quiet-rimmed moon. 
 
 [28] 
 
I am free at last ! O God, I am free 
 
 From all I was, — that / failed to he; 
 
 Free from pain, and free from desire 
 
 That set my body and soul on fire ; 
 
 Free from fretting, and free from regretting. 
 
 Remembering only the bliss of forgetting ; 
 
 Free from this clay-built house of cares ; 
 
 Free from all shadows and dark despairs 
 
 That lay siege to the soul and wait and wait, 
 
 Till Death fling wide the secret gate. 
 
 I am one at last with the oak and pine ; 
 
 And the calm and the strength of the hills is 
 
 mine. 
 One with all fleet things that move. 
 One with all strong things that stand, 
 One with Hate and one with Love, 
 One with the sea, and one with the land. 
 One with the purple-shadowed hills. 
 One with the pale, dawn-gilded rills. 
 I have left my poor, weak body behind, 
 And I ride, — I ride, — on the wings of mind — 
 On the wings of mind that are swifter than wind. 
 I've left the place where I sorrowed and sinned ; 
 As a tattered garment I flung aside 
 My withered form, while my soul doth ride. 
 My soul is set free, — it is newly risen 
 From the House of Breath, from its clay-built 
 
 prison ; 
 
 [29] 
 
It burst every bar and door asunder, 
 And God is revealed in His unseen wonder. 
 And I have forgotten the paths that I trod, 
 Now that my spirit is One with God ! 
 
 [30] 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 
 
THE SONG OF DAWN 
 
 Over the crests of the hilltops I speed, 
 That, dreaming of olden 
 Days, lie asleep ; 
 And the winds at my coming wake moorland 
 and mead. 
 Where the flash of my golden 
 Winged sandals shall sweep. 
 
 From the heart of the mountains, at anvil and 
 forge, 
 With deft anvils ringing. 
 The bearded dwarfs mold 
 The sandals with which over hollow and gorge 
 Each morn I go winging, — ^ 
 
 Swift sandals of gold. 
 
 My wings are the shafts of the sunrise which beat 
 The heavens expanding 
 With roseate light; 
 I leap on the ramparts of mountains to meet 
 The white moon disbanding 
 Star legions to flight. 
 
 Lo, ere my light on their darkness did shine 
 (By dim shadows haunted) 
 I lacked not for priest ; 
 For the pines were my prophets, — my prophet 
 each pine; 
 All night they have chanted 
 And bowed to the East. 
 [33] 
 
I am that which the poets with rapture have 
 sung; 
 Nay, they were but rushes 
 That bent to my breath ; 
 For I thrilled through their lips till they 
 sounded and rung 
 Till they wakened night's hushes,— 
 I am Life bom of Death ! 
 
 I am that for which sages of ages have pined, — 
 A symbol of wonder, 
 A presence divine ; 
 Yet never hath ever their lore pierced behind. 
 To the Power that lies under 
 The veil of my shrine. 
 
 I pour forth my wine of sunshine on the hills. 
 To the valleys long-thirsting 
 For day's golden feast, 
 Till each glen laughs again with a ripple of rills. 
 With my golden wine bursting 
 The bounds of the East ! 
 
 As an arrow from the archer, as an arrow from 
 the bow. 
 To the goal of Hereafter, 
 From the Earth to the sky ; 
 So on through the mist of the fleet years I go 
 With a sound as of laughter, — 
 As an arrow am I. 
 
 [34] 
 
On my wings of the sunrise I ride through the 
 years ; 
 The mountains far over 
 I speed in glad flight ; 
 I bring hope to the mourner, I wipe away tears, 
 Since the voice of Jehovah 
 Said, " Let there be Light." 
 
 [35] 
 
THE SEA ENCHANTED 
 
 A FRAGMENT FROM A DREAM 
 
 I SAW forsaken gardens that once crowned 
 Old terraces of ocean-circled isles, 
 Where dark-browed youths and fair-haired dam- 
 sels dwelt; 
 But all those shapes of joy had passed awaj^, 
 Blown like the blossoms of forgotten springs. 
 I saw pale-petaled paths now choked with leaves 
 Where wooing lovers wandering once had sighed, 
 (Where only now the winds sighed to and fro). 
 And when I thought of all those happy forms 
 That through these courts once glided to and 
 
 fro, 
 I heard the strange voice of the dreamful surge 
 That through their lives they day and night had 
 
 heard. 
 Until at last borne in upon their brains. 
 They two, forgetting all their joy and mirth. 
 Like tired children wearied with their play 
 Sank down with its soft murmurs in their ears 
 To everlasting sleep and dreamless death. 
 While he who cast this spell upon their lives 
 (Calling them alway to his hidden deeps), — 
 The white, foam-wrinkled wizard of the sea 
 That round these shores his magic circle 
 
 traced, — 
 Chanted his wicked charms and ruthless runes 
 That lured these lovers all to dreamless death! 
 
 [36] 
 
AN APRIL VIOLET 
 
 I SAW a dainty, blue-gowned nun 
 Bend, with a teardrop in her eye. 
 
 Over a brooklet in the sun, 
 Telling her rosary. 
 
 She saintly seemed in that retreat, 
 A holy, sacred presence there, 
 
 A soul by sorrow made more sweet. 
 Fast wrapped in silent prayer. 
 
 [37] 
 
MOON MAGIC 
 
 We wandered down the silver-shelving shore, 
 
 Over the shining sand ; 
 We heard the ocean's voice, forevermore 
 
 Lulling the listless land. 
 
 Afar the broad-backed billows, steep on steep, 
 Reared, — war steeds white with foam ; 
 
 Behind, the isle wrapped in cerulean sleep, — 
 Above, the weird moon clomb. 
 
 And as we watched her on her silent way. 
 
 We lost all power of speech; 
 The waves bowed down 'neath her entranced 
 sway 
 
 To clasp the gleaming beach. 
 
 While she, strange sorceress, on the cloudless 
 skies 
 Wove her mysterious spell, — 
 Mocked the thralled sea with smile serene and 
 wise. 
 Subtler than tongue can tell ! 
 
 [38] 
 
THE SLEEPING FAUN 
 
 She sat by her beloved while he slept ; 
 She saw his tawny-ivory curled lids lie 
 Like petals of pale poppies overblown, 
 Deep-fringed with purple lashes whose dark 
 
 screen 
 Soft-veiled the Spanish splendor of his eyes ; 
 And gazing thus upon him, she could scent 
 The perfume of his passionate, sweet breath, 
 That smelled of juicy grapes by hot suns kissed 
 (In vineyards dear to Bacchus or to Pan, 
 Or like the incense that pervades strange shrines 
 In occult temples of the Orient), 
 The odor of Desire and of Love. . . . 
 She sat by her beloved while he slept ; 
 She saw his luscious lips curled full and red. 
 Kissing each other in voluptuous curve ; 
 Red as pomegranate was his firm, strong mouth. 
 And as he lay there, his broad modeled breast, 
 Naked and bare, as sun-burned ivory 
 With olive shadows shone between the sheets. 
 And his strong-muscled arms, on which his hea'd 
 Was pillowed in soft slumber; his black hair 
 Flowed back in glossy curls, and floated round 
 His dark, black brows, above his shadowed 
 
 face. . . . 
 
 And as she watched, the deep breath came and 
 
 went 
 Through his wide nostrils, wild and eloquent. 
 [39] 
 
Her-seemed he was some faun who'd lost his 
 
 way, 
 Or some young satyr who had gone astray, 
 And now lay prisoned in the haunts of men, 
 Dreaming of babbling brook and mountain glen, 
 Within the city's cruel closing walls ; 
 Perchance he heard the sound of waterfalls, — 
 How could he dream so carelessly the while? — 
 Lo, on his lips was set a cruel smile ! 
 
 She sat by her beloved — and she wept 
 
 To think how she had sinned for him who slept. 
 
 [40] 
 
HAST THOU NOT GRIEF? 
 
 Hast thou not grief at turning of the leaf, 
 
 When all the year is yearning; 
 
 When Autumn walks with Midas touch of old, 
 
 Turning the thriftless forest into gold ; 
 
 When through the woodland many a bush is 
 
 burning 
 When all the corn is gathered in the sheaf. 
 Hast thou not grief? 
 
 Hast thou not grief at reddening of the leaf, 
 
 To hear the bluebird calling 
 
 Over the furrowed lands in lonely flight, 
 
 With mellowed notes in evening's last sweet 
 
 light, 
 When through the wood the silent leaves are 
 
 falling, falling? 
 To know the year is sad, his life is brief. 
 Hast thou not grief? 
 
 Hast thou not grief at falling of the leaf? 
 Hast thou not secret longing 
 To see the wistful sunset in the west 
 Flame o'er the purple hills, and dream of rest ? 
 When golden-rod throughout the field is throng- 
 ing. 
 When all the com is gathered into sheaf, 
 Hast thou not grief? 
 
 [41] 
 
Hast thou not grief at withering of the leaf? 
 When the wild woods are sighing, 
 Doth not regret in thee beget sad tears ? 
 To look back on thy withered waste of years ; 
 To know the sad old year is dying, dying; 
 When the winds whisper that his time is brief, 
 Hast thou not grief, sad heart, hast thou not 
 grief? 
 
 [4^] 
 
FATE 
 
 Strange it is, yet 'tis true, 
 
 Man's fate is not ruled by a star, 
 For whatever we think, we are ; 
 
 And whatever we are, we do. 
 
 Time tames us not; we grow old 
 By thoughts of age, not by years. 
 As a river-worn rock-bed, our fears 
 
 Wear our forms into sorrowful mold. 
 
 [4S] 
 
ADORATION 
 
 What is it to have visions, to have dreams, 
 
 To hear the voices in the winds, to be 
 
 Uplifted to the prophetic ecstasy 
 Beneath the splendor of the bright day's 
 
 beams ? — 
 To hold communion with the hills and streams, 
 
 Or to go down in madness to the sea 
 
 To hear its anthem of eternity 
 Roll on the soul forever, till it seems 
 
 Filled with mysterious import? — What to 
 hear 
 The spirit-stirring whispering of the pine, 
 
 To stand enchanted where the sunset waits 
 At close of even, worshipping the shrine 
 
 Of beauty inexpressible, in prayer, — 
 A moment with thy God within the gates! 
 
 [44] 
 
THE UNSEEN SCULPTOR 
 
 There is an unseen Sculptor who hath wrought 
 Throughout the ages diverse forms, — sub- 
 lime 
 And comic figures ; mortals call him Time, 
 
 But to philosophers his name is Thought. 
 
 Contrasting attitudes and every sort 
 
 And cast of countenance, portraying crime 
 And saint-like holiness in every clime, — 
 
 Youth's smiles, grief's lines, — hath he con- 
 ceived and caught ; 
 
 For as the inward soul is, ever must 
 
 The outward form be, — neither more nor less 
 Than by Thought's ceaseless chiselling de- 
 fined, — 
 
 Joy's rounded contour, hollow-eyed Distress ; 
 Yet Sorrow's shapes shall crumble into dust 
 When Thought hath immortality divined. 
 
 £46] 
 
PRAYER TO BRAHM 
 
 O THOU High Power, Brahm, — unchangeable, 
 
 Yet ever-changing, — at the loom of life 
 
 Weaving the web of being, yet with hands 
 
 That move not, nor are seen of any man, — 
 
 Teach me to lean upon thee, let me rest 
 
 My tired heart upon thy calm great breast. 
 
 Teach me to be as thou art, nor to seek 
 
 To clasp at tempting fruit beyond my reach. 
 
 Teach me to he as thou art; let me cease 
 
 To strive and fight with men for this world's 
 
 gain; 
 Cast out desires, — petty jealousies, — 
 And make me One with thee. Eternal Peace, 
 
 So that, no longer seeking, I shall find 
 
 The power to do great deeds, — the strength of 
 
 mind 
 That comes but to the mystics of this world. 
 So that by thee my art shall be unfurled. 
 And Brahm be praised through me of all man- 
 kind. 
 
 [46] 
 
THE BALLAD OF A NUN 
 
 " Beneath the convent's shadowed wall, 
 The first time that I saw his face, 
 He clasped, — I broke from his embrace,- 
 
 Would God that I had given all. 
 
 " The passion hoarded in my breast, — 
 This passion that I still must hoard; 
 Oh, take this cross from me, dear Lord, 
 
 And let me lie and be at rest. 
 
 " Mother of God the Crucified, 
 
 See how my heart with love doth bleed ! " 
 (E'en as a frail, wind-shaken reed, 
 
 She fell the Virgin's shrine beside.) 
 
 " I know, O Mother of God, I know 
 That earthly passion is a stain. 
 That I, a nun, must love in vain ; 
 
 But yet, O God, I love him so ! " 
 
 The day wore on to vesper song; 
 The black-robed sisters silent pass 
 Through the dim aisles at candle-mass. 
 
 And kneel there, an adoring throng. 
 
 The choir sang, the organ pealed. 
 The presence of the Holy Ghost 
 Was felt, — and lo, the sacred host 
 
 Was raised above them as they kneeled ! 
 
 [47] 
 
They tell their beads, then calmly rise, 
 And two and two glide to the door,— 
 When lo, before them on the floor 
 
 They see a stricken novice lies. 
 
 II 
 
 She lies before the Virgin's shrine, 
 
 Her white hands clasping as in prayer. 
 And up at them her dead eyes stare,' — 
 
 When lo, behold a sacred sign ! 
 
 For round her veil, above her head, 
 A golden halo gleams and glows. 
 And sheds a light of amber rose, — 
 
 " Surely, she is a saint," they said. 
 
 They touched her hands, — her hands were cold ; 
 
 They marked there was nor life nor breath ; 
 
 She lay there peacefully, and death 
 Had given her that crown of gold. 
 
 They raised her then upon a bier ; 
 
 They bore her up the chapel aisle ; 
 
 Her face was fix^d in a calm smile ; 
 Then at the altar left her there. 
 
 [48] 
 
Ill 
 
 When suddenly, with clanking din 
 Of jingling spurs and armament, 
 A dark-browed youth, with travel spent, 
 
 Up through the chapel aisle rushed in ! 
 
 The nuns, they break from side to side, 
 And trembling, fly apart in groups. 
 As when a broad-winged falcon stoops 
 
 On fluttering birds that strive to hide ! 
 
 Then right up to the bier he strode 
 And clasped the novice to his breast. 
 And kissed her brow, her lips, and pressed 
 
 Her hands until it seemed they glowed. 
 
 ** Sancta Maria! Shield us well," 
 
 The frightened abbess fainting cried, — 
 " Are saints not free when they have died 
 
 From passion and the fiends of hell ? " 
 
 " Per baco corpo," groaned the knight ; 
 " My love, alas ! I come too late. 
 For thou hast passed the dismal gate 
 
 Where Love and Life are lost to sight." 
 
 [49] 
 
IV 
 
 His limbs grew rigid, and he fell 
 Across her form, his arm entwined 
 Around the breast that once had pined 
 
 For him until Love burst its cell. 
 
 And thus a miracle was wrought : — 
 For those on earth who cannot wed 
 Christ joins after they are dead, 
 
 And thus Death found what Life had sought ! 
 
 [50] 
 
TO BRAHMA 
 
 A-WEARY of wandering hither and thither, the 
 puppet of a Fate, 
 I feign now would seek the Great Centre, the 
 source of my soul. 
 To become for a moment as conscious of power 
 and great 
 As Brahma, — forgetting my part in the In- 
 finite Whole. 
 
 [51] 
 
THE PRINCE OF PEACE 
 
 Fight on, fight on with sword and shell ; 
 
 Yet though you fight like fiends of hell, 
 
 There is one force you cannot quell ! 
 
 A mightier than war shall come; 
 
 His hosts shall hold each plain. 
 
 And hush the rolling of the drum 
 
 Along the trampled grain, 
 
 And on the fields where men have bled 
 
 Shall not be left a stain ; 
 
 The battle-bugle shaU grow dumb, 
 
 And mothers smile again ; 
 
 For 'neath his gaze the guns shall cease. 
 
 For lo, he is the Prince of Peace, 
 
 Who brings to each and all release, — 
 
 The slayer and the slain! 
 
 [52] 
 
UNA ARS 
 
 The Poet gazeth here, and languisheth 
 
 (At the blue hills priest-kneeling in the west) 
 
 That through his song shall never be expressed 
 
 Their definite beauty, and he sighing saith, 
 
 " Ah, would my words were colors and not 
 
 breath ! " 
 
 The Painter hears these pines chant, nor can 
 
 rest. 
 But cries within himself, " Oh, to suggest 
 With words their mystic hymn of Life and 
 Death!" 
 
 So Art and Poesy awhile must be 
 
 Thus severed, and while severed, incomplete; 
 
 Yet aye they tend toward the self-same goal. 
 When after many a weary century, 
 
 As lovers who embrace, at last they meet, — 
 
 From whence the one expression of the Soul! 
 
 [53] 
 
II 
 
 Aye, then shall heaven come on earth ; aye, then 
 Shall reign the thrilling thousand years of 
 
 peace, 
 Of grand endeavor which shall never cease. 
 When God's one harmony shall throb through 
 
 men 
 From sea-girt island unto mountain-glen. 
 
 Then shall the panting spirit win release 
 
 On rushing wings of thought from out the 
 press 
 Of human bonds to regions beyond ken. 
 
 For men shall then conform to righteousness 
 In deeds, and thus their words shall grow to 
 be 
 More burning e'en than prophets heretofore; 
 Their lives shall be their poems, and shall 
 bless 
 Their comrades with their God-like harmony 
 Till sin and death make discord nevermore. 
 
 [54] 
 
vox MARIS 
 
 This is a poet's land, and all around, 
 
 The great, cloud-dreaming mountain ranges 
 
 rise 
 In heavenly contemplation of the skies, 
 In noontide meditation, — calm, profound. 
 Though summer, 'tis like autumn, — not a sound 
 Stirs in the wood save the wind's slumberous 
 
 sighs, 
 Or when some red leaf, fluttering, falls and 
 dies, 
 Lone harbinger of autumn, to the ground ! 
 
 The rye is gathered into harvest sheaves, 
 
 The meadows sleep beneath dark bordering 
 
 pines, — 
 Uplifting pines which chant continually. 
 A lofty land, — yet still my wild heart grieves. 
 And longs once more for the white breakers' lines 
 And the wild, restless rhythm of the sea. 
 
 [55]