GOUriTRY i'TiV VINDOtf ERBERT OLMES Class _JP S3 Si-S CopightN" 10/ COPyRlGHT DEPOSrr. A COUNTRY STORE WINDOW BY HERBERT HOLMES T^z^pz^pcrzr^ilir, THE Bbbcy press PUBLISHERS 114 FIFTH AVENUE Condon NEW YORK montrcal A4 THF I I8RARY OF CONGRESS, Two Co?-iEs RacEivED MAR. 26 1901 Copyright entry CLASS CVXXc. N» COPY B. Copyright, 1901, by THE Hbbey press INTRODUCTIOR What are my Gifts ? God knows ; I cannot tell, Nor fear lest He hath given me but one. My duty is to use that talent well ; My Glory — in Results ; my Hope, "Well done.'* No tales have I, but just a few ideas; No message, even — save, being somewhat human, Some epigrams. I love all kinds of tears And dedicate my volume to A Woman. Thus far have I remained in port ; too frail To venture out where many a gallant crew Hath fought his prize. But, now I hoist my sail ; Blow, friends, and take me out to sea with you. 8 Contents. PAGE The Lover to Sir John Suckling 56 Our "Art" Critics 57 The V/ord We All Wait For 58 Work 59 Our Enemy 60 A Game of Tennis 61 The Hudson River 6^ The Evils of Learning 65 Reflections on the Dead Washington 66 The Curse in the Cup of Gold 70 On the Death of a Great Man 72 Confessions 73 L It Is Not Just 73 II. Youth and Its Age 73 III. Thou Wilt Not Find 74 IV. When Thee I Saw 75 V. Where Is Your Heart 76 VI. Where Thine Eyes Turn 77 VII. I Dream, I Dream 78 VIIL It Is Thy Heart 78 IX. What Can I Do 79 Love, the Unknown 81 Society 83 Taylor's Goethe's Faust 84 To One Acting in the "Bauble Shop" 85 Stanzas in the Old Style 86 A Prayer 91 The Rhine 92 A Piece of Sentiment 94 The Woman's Way 95 Rumors 96 Summer Dreams 97 Aubade 99 Contents. 9 PAGE No Reed, This loo O, Little Child 102 To a Girl Spoiled by Society 103 The Forest of Sin 104 For an Album io5 Love and Intellect 107 The Nature Cure io8 Another Sonnet on Nature 109 Sonnet no Love, the Known m The Traitor's Flight 112 Sonnet ii3 The Light That Fails Not 114 Song 115 Christmas Eve 116 God, Browning, You and Me 119 One Touch of Light, One Touch of Love 120 A Kiss 122 Nineteenth Century Tendency 124 V/inter Roses to a Singer 125 The Bores 126 A Swoon at the First Whiff of Summer 127 To an Old Book Belonging to a Young Girl 128 Poetria Ventura 129 Away from the World I Mock It 131 An Echo for "Pippa." I34 For an Album i35 To a Wife 136 Art 137 Whatever Your Mood Says 138 My World 140 Two Poets 141 10 Contents. PAGE An Observation 142 Ode to Wagner I43 A Model Birthday Ode 145 The Flower That You Swear By 148 Says One Lover to Another 149 A Piece of Moralizing 150 A Tale 151 Eyes of Hers 153 Apostrophe to a Violin 154 A Change 155 World Sorrow 156 Major and Minor 157 *'De Te Fabula"— Tammany 158 Art 159 The Lost Art 160 The Eternal Battle 161 My Mistress Art 162 An Allegory 163 Innocence 170 Song 171 The Far-aways 172 France — September 9, 1899 173 A Fair Exchange 180 A Keynote 181 Madam 182 Mary 183 Along With "Landor's Poems" 184 Written in the Same 186 The Outcast 187 Song 188 The Bather 189 Her Answer 190 Reciprocal — a Sketch 191 Contents. 1 1 PAGE Song 194 Paderewski 195 Virginia 197 All That It Is Possible to Know 203 Lines on a Book Underlined 204 Song 205 Touchstone's Lenten Poem 206 A Real Impromptu 209 A Street Seller 210 The Soul 212 Burdens 213 A Theme With Variation 214 Hesitation 215 St. Paul 216 Music 217 Sonnet 218 The First Act 219 Points of View 220 The Tear and the Woman 221 The Immortal Chord 223 The Performer 225 The Poet 227 The Prophet 228 The Value of Failure 230 O, Tempora ; O, Mores 232 The Rise of the Self-Made Man 234 Growing Horizons 235 My College World 237 Truth 238 Marriage of the Present with the Future 239 The Inevitable 240 Beethoven 241 His Shadow to Louis XV 242 12 Contents. PACB The Great Man Who is Always with Us 243 Tragi-Comedy 244 The Ideal Woman 245 A Mare's Nest 246 Music 247 God's Love 248 The Wonder-Workers 249 Outline for a Tragedy 250 The Song Journey 254 A Vacation Letter 256 Woman 260 Song 261 Translation 262 The Immortal Dynasty 263 Studies in Light and Shade 265 The Last Straw 269 Phantasmagoria 270 Sonnet 272 The Coward 273 Hearts of Hearts 274 The Place of Prayer 275 Songs of American Yeomen 276 To Mary on Going Into the Country 282 The North and South Poles 283 Education for the Poor 284 A Pleasant Thought 286 An Essay on Byron 287 The Attache of the Foreign Legation 280 To the "Patron" of Letters 289 The Poetic Feeling in Art 290 Temperance 291 Rich Wage Earners 292 The End and the Means 293 Contents. 13 PAGE The Means to an End 294 Christian Missions 296 The Little Plaster Gods 297 The Real Man 299 Beethoven's First '"Romance" 301 "Yes" or "No" ? 302 O, Love 303 Modern Art 304 A Toast 305 Prose— "Et Praeteria Nihil" 306 A Revision of My "Sketches" 307 Youth 309 Prosperous, Cheap-Souled Prophets 310 The Flower of Refinement ! 311 The Question 312 Borrowed Feathers 313 The Real World 314 The Soul to the Body 315 The Feminine Spirit 316 A Note on Keats 321 Shakespeare 322 The Business Prostitute 324 The Religion in Fashion 325 An Appeal to the Honor of Reputable Authors 327 Mary Blessington in "A Cup of Tea" 328 To Mr. and Mrs. A. T 329 The Crystal Commonwealth 33^ A Temperance Sermon 332 To Nikola Tesla 334 The Spirit of "Walden" 335 Capital Punishment 33^ Letter to Dr. Pontifex Maximus Giltedge. — From John Smith 337 14 Contents. J' ACE Prisons and Colleges 339 The New Woman 340 The Feathered Finger 341 "To the Glory of God," in memory of J. J. Bom- baster 345 Bohemian "Mimi" — Lines V/ritten on her Fan.... 346 The Author 348 An Apology for Being "Involved" 349 The Agnostic "Circle" 350 "Handle Me and See" 35i A Possible Use for My Poems 352 Life's Paradox 353 The Comforter 354 Modern Art ' 355 Song 356 "Whom the Lord Loveth He Chasteneth" 357 The Panorama 358 In the Philippines, February, 1899 359 Broad Puritanism 361 Anybody's Wisdom 362^ A Miracle 2>^^ Realities and Reflections 364 Emerson 365 Weather-Wisdom 366 Christ's Divine Birth 367 Magazine Editors 368 The Pack Horse 369 Man — The Touchstone Z7^ Christmas Morning 371 The Fin de Siecle Crusader 372 The Friend Z7^ Children 374 My First Apology 375 A Country Store Window. MY LAST APOLOGY, Much that I print now may not stand the test. ''Why print, then?" ask you; sometimes you may add, ''Print just a little, perish all the rest." Like Browning's "Piper," that was born to pad. Suppose that is the best which seems the worst? So, if I print what / alone think best All that I print may be supremely bad. This, then, my last apology, read first. 16 A Country Store Window. THE CHOICE OF A MUSE. Do you begin, One of you Muses ; I have not the art To foster eloquence, nor yet the heart To force it. Let Good rather fall asleep In silence than be roused to sing and leap Like automatic dolls and puppets. Muse, Whichever one the better critics choose. Do you begin. An Incantation. 17 AN INCANTATION TO THE LOST MUSE, Luna steals lymph and laundries her garb To the pale tint of her mood ; Dead v/ere that studious midnight orb, Unrobed of the silver flood. Our music-makers now absorb More midnight oil than blood. Wherever in this wide Universe Thou, O Muse, art fled, Return, breathe Song into our verse And raise it from the dead. Chorus : The Song's the Soul of the verse, The Gift of the Muse ; Men work at it; then, make it worse With the words they use. My Muse sits on a lonely height Far, far from this world's fever. Where her reverend Soul's Song Will never, never leave her. 18 A Country Store Window. Chorus: O, Muse, we feel thy song, A seed in our heart Pressing to grow, but how long Ere the Earth part! Silent, bright, like the stars at night. For she speaketh never. No, I dare not do that wrong Of the tongue's endeavor. Chorus: O, Muse, we hear thy song, A vague cry of pain; But the words of our mouth do it wrong And we labor in vain. Such is the true muse of my faith. Ah ! but who looks for pleasure ! Well, there's many a maiden, flower laden, Will trip you any measure. So pipe away, then, with your Clay, then ; This is the thing the World applauds. This is the thing the World enjoys, Toys, Gauds. An Incantation. 19 Chorus : Oh, let the song or the sorrow- In tears break away And grow towards the sun of to- morrow, The hope of to-day. 20 A Country Store Window. A RETROSPECTION. Too perfect was her Soul to need the world, Through which old men have passed, to make it rife. An angel when born, what need to have her whirled Around the dark monotony of life! She touched the earth and then passed swiftly over, Leaving each a gift — her baby breath Remembered, thus perpetually to love her; Naught to regret, for Life is darker than her death. A Prayer for Rain. 21 A PRAYER FOR RAIN. Water, of old was given to those who pray. Cooled from the rocks ; So may be given to us, O Lord, this day, For fields and flocks. Grant us living waters and fresh rains Of a new shower, Whereby Death is lost and Life regains Its utmost power. 22 A Country Store Window. SONG. While their shadows mingle and the drowsy trees Go drifting with a lazy breeze Strayed from the skies, Upward we gaze, forget world scars In wonder of the world of stars, Like our Love's eyes. When comes the time for sunburnt reapers And autumn's fall of leaves, we weepers Laugh awhile, But — w^hen dead leaves have ev'n departed They seem to us, the broken-hearted, Like our Love's smile. O, Love, if your love is as great As mine (and true love laughs at fate), How can we part When comes that ever joyful Spring And mated Lark ? Hark, hear it sing Like my Love's heart. Conscience. 23 CONSCIENCE, The candle light falls on the page Of Manuscript that had an age Born in an old monkish cell, And from the hand, I could not tell, It seemed born of a monkish brain. The candle spluttered, the dreary rain Tapped against the window pane. 'Twas midnight when I sat me down In slippered feet and dressing gown Before the desk that held the tome. Now would I make me glad at home. Twas all my own. Sometimes a mouse ( Nothing that my mind could rouse From careful study) scratched the floor. I was alone and locked the door, While I comfortably turned The pages, and the candle burned. I slammed the book and fastened tight The clasps ; the draught blew out the light. 24 A Country Store Window^ I awoke when I had deeply slept; And the light groped in my dark room Like morning knocking at a tomb. Up the creaking staircase crept A veiled form that wept and wept ; And as upon the hollow boards The tears dropped slowly, all the chords That kept my Soul in Music, swept At one great discord all that's sweet And ever could be, from my heart. Ye Gods, how frantic doth it beat, That everlasting discord, part — Part, nay, all of future life. Mounting, foot by foot, she stepped, Yea, stepped into my room and crept Into my heart's most cruel nerve. Oh ! the pain ; 'twas like a knife That ever cut these aching chords Of my heart. Gods, I deserve The shrieking pain of those discords. 'Twas she who is and is to be; 'Twas Conscience; and she sickened me^ Thomas Hood. 25 THOMAS HOOD. A. He sang the "Song of the Shirt." With a tzvang and a twang the lyre Struck he — and the toiHng Dirt Stooped down to help the Mire. He sang the "Bridge of Sighs," While death was at the door. Would you have it otherwise? The Bard was sick — and poor. With a TWANG he struck the lyre And then the world did smile. Twice tenderly swept the lyre — And left it for a while. Yes, cold hearts that were shut While his few sad years were flying. You crowded in haste to his hut — But to find the poet dying. 26 A Country Store Window. For each step he took In advance of his race, A contemptuous look And a blow in the face Struck him back to the ranks; And he labored there for awhile; But for neither song nor smile Received he thanks. C. When Bread was the gold he lusted for — Did you give him a stone when he asked for bread ? Gor forbid ! But if you did What wonder at times he gave you rhymes and verse When you asked in your filthy taste for even Thrice, as one who held the sacred flame Of undisputed Right, he summoned Fame — But Famine came ; In the name of Bread Ambition fled. Thomas Hood. 27 Fame for the dead ! Is fame a lure For the living man who dies so poor He grows rich only when he's dead? Bread — for life, for love; But he could not move Sick of the soul's hunger for a cure, Soul sick of the wife's pale face by love made pure. D, Ho, for the man with the golden tongue Who sings all day to the old and young! Happy he could he sell it for bread, Be done at once with the hunger smart What, cut it out and sell the gold? All in a lump can life he sold? For his tongue was gold right through to the heart. t/yihappy he that maketh dead The goose that lays the golden egg. 28 A Country Store Window. Tender touch at tender part To make the tears of the tearless start — Sharp as a lance at knightly tilt. Sing, O, for the man with the golden tongue Who sings all day to the old and young, Whose tongue's pure gold right down to the heart, Right up to the hilt Till the shadows creep From the face of the sky And dissolve in the deep And shiver and die. No man shall reap Here, save a sigh ; Except through a mist, No man shall see Christ Till the Dawning. This Record I keep For myself as a warning. So let us not weep Philosophy scorning — To-night let us sleep And awake in the morning. Song. 29 SONG. Ev^N though all love is not a crown. Of precious stones and true; Though I am poor — bend thine ear down And know what I would do. Now, now, heart's dearest, on thy locks Take love's immortal crown, Till one of toil hewn from these rocks Shall make thee all mine own. 30 A Country Store Window. SUMMER ONCE MORE. Look, there again sweet Summer comes With meditative pace, In long, rich robe and shining hair And all unconscious grace. Once more my summer wanders on And sniffs among the daisies In meadows where the singing sun Upturns their chubby faces ; Where grasshoppers jump out and moles Rip up and mice scratch over; The chip's about the acorn boles, The rabbit's snug in clover, They hear each other's full, fat jowls And whisk and run to cover. One of Life's Necessities. 31 ONE OF LIFERS NECESSITIES. The very man I need, S. T., For faithful friend and hero ; It's just your manly modesty That keeps my pride at zero. You could I honestly admire And be not jealous, even Should you succeed where I aspire, A Gentleman, by Heaven. Soul searcher, prophesy. Fm vexed And cannot probe the heart of it; To me it happened bit by bit. I cannot preach, but here's my text. What form of grief it is to feel That one beloved has gone to rest, Hov^ v^hen beside his bed you kneel No voice replies from that dear breast ; 32 A Country Store Window. What form of grief, what form of grief When in trouble you pace the street Or park in full, familiar leaf. Where he and you did often meet Of evenings for a quiet talk (With one whose heart awakes with thine !) When hurrying up the shady walk, That leads unto his home, to dine, You find long crepe upon the door — And the story sad in hollow note Is whispered where so oft before Laughing he helped you with your coat; What form of grief it is to turn With slower step from that dark home And feel no more his touch; to yearn For one who never again shall come To know the earth ; what, when you strove To feel his hands but clutched despair ; To grasp a something that you love And find naught but the empty air; Though tears for such I cannot spend Yet by my need this shall I prove, That though I never loved a friend, I know the pain of a lost love. One of Life's Necessities. 33 I stretch my hand his hand to seize Which still I grasp in every prayer. O, hands, veil my deceived eyes — He is not there, he is not there. I stretch my arms, I do not wake ; I think I touch his warm young hair. But, oh! it is of fancy's make; He is not there, he is not there. What do they say ? The man is dead ? That his noble soul hath fled? Nay, he's here beside my bed, With the fancies of my head; So let the world go earn its bread. Was it thou or I who led? Thou; my soul shall follow thine. Myself around thyself shall twine Until we grow to be one vine. Thou and I are stronger wed Than ever man or woman. Dead. Then Silence lifted up her hand, Rebuked the running of the sand ; In the hour-glass I saw it stand Still where it was half through the glass And shake as though it dare not pass. I held my breath to listen ; then She whispered **Amen and Amen." 34 A Country Store Window. Long ere our minds imagined it, We loved each other ere we met. In life we loved, love still and why? Because, where / am, memory Is all that's left of him should I Not know him better when I die? Rome. 35 ROME. The Colosseum, Vatican's in Rome. Look yoti behind The Colosseum, Vatican ; there, stranger, you will find How earnest men can perish through a whim of thoughtless child, How he whom God doth nourish can by man be so defiled. 36 A Country Store Window. HIDDEN THINGS Winds rattle round the bars And shake them in their rust ; Waves float up to the stars And glide down to the dust, Where hearts and precious stones In ivory caskets lie By rusty bars and bones All hid from mortal eye. Hail to the deep, my soul, Beneath whose guardian wave Many a wreck doth roll Restless in the grave. Sonnet. 37 SONNET. Were flowers strewn upon the grave of Venus Dissolved again into the mother wave, Methinks I would not join that crew of mourners Who, blinded by the glare of what they love, See not their offering carried to mid-ocean, Wasted on a mirror of self-love. They are not lovers, they ; but love the thing That represents the passion they would feel. And only love to love. The flowers strewn Upon the reflecting sea are their own crowns. Venus is dead. Come, then, let's leave her grave. T make my goddess out of what I love. And thou, real image, art not of the wave, Pale, thin and fleeting; in flesh and blood you move. 38 A Country Store Window. A DAY OF MELANCHOLICS. I. The unbroken sky has a dead white look With only the sea to repeat it; A world-wide wash of the cold, calm sea And never a shore to meet it. II. Yesterday I searched the attic with a relic hunt- ing craze. Clothed in cobwebs, dust and insects, hairy trunks I tried to raise, Great black trunks that seemed cemented to the dusty, musty floor. In the trunks I found moth-eaten work (m.ade by the dames of yore) Smelling of rats and mice and camphor, all an- cestral and decayed. There I found rich silken robes and tassels gor- geous, things that fade, A Day of Melancholies. 39 Heavy curtains with silk linings that hung on old ancestral walls ; Light green dresses worn at balls colonial ; heavy Indian shawls, I dropped the cover ; what a host of dust and in- sect filled my nose; I thrust my head through the broken glass of a little window where wind blows And broke a cobweb that hangs even now upon my face. Horror, to think how many hundred years back we could trace. To-day I stared my prim ancestors whom famil- iarly I greet, And whirled old spinning wheels around — they shook the dust from off their feet. I thumbed rare books and histories and shut my- self up in the past And looked with pride on my own name in Ancient print made fast! HI. The night breeze, sallying oft from moving skies, its starlit camp; The fussy fire-fly, beneath the moon, with lighted lamp; 40 A Country Store Window. The buzz of insects nowhere seen, among the darkening trees Whose waving forms grow tall and black against the moonlit skies ; And every thought that comes to one turns sick, grows mad, and dies. IV. Oh! the drizzly rain that sprinkles the pond and makes its shadows blink ; Oh ! the dreary bark of the crow that sails from drooping tree to tree O'er the muddy pond reflecting him and the vivid green of the grass. The crow forlorn floats slowly down, into a tree doth sink; A flock of sparrows seeking shelter now doth swiftly pass. To and fro is driven the rain by the heavy rain- soaked breeze. Over the mourning meadow see the dirty yellow sky. Oh! the wailing scene o'er something that must surely die. Oh ! the sound of a fall of a sigh as it breaks on a desolate core Like the fall on her knee of the weary sea as she faints on a lonely shore. A Day of Melancholies. 41 The sea of wind strikes at the leaves and scatters them like ships. The crackling fire laughs within and up the chimney slips. The kettle sings awhile, then spits upon the teas- ing fire; And the spirit sits with broken pride to nurse his petted ire. VI. Around the soul the planets roll in quick obedi- ence. I am greater Than the earth (I span her girth) and every work of the Creator. Around the soul the tempests roll. In the storm the voice of thunder Peals aloud from tortured cloud — it awes me not, this awful wonder. I soar on wings to higher things and the whole universe doth roll From mine eye's vision till hands Elysian touch me, for I am a soul. 42 A Country Store Window. VII. O, the bitter holiness of love! The cream of hell Gathered by the angels in a cup of sorrow. Tell, Tell me how you dare to pour this in the souls of men ! But Cherubim and Seraphim — answer but "Amen; So be it." Men shall blindly ask the truth of things sublime Till age, in melody majestic, shall toll out the end of Time. Song. 43 SONG, Wait not till the evening gathers, Let us work while shines the sun, That the gray hairs of our fathers May rejoice at what we've done. When the calm of evening gathers And we sons have of our own, May we rest, as did our fathers. When our sons to men have grown. When the twilight will remind us We look on the parting day, And sigh for those we leave behind us Each unto himself shall say: Now the shades of evening gather My life's work on earth is sown ; I'll lay me down as did my father When life's wind had overblown. 44 A Country Store Window. TO MY INSPIRATION. Why, when I beckon to my Mus For eloquence in other themes Stands she so near, indifferent, A mock to mine own idle dreams ? True, when I beckon she doth send The spirit to my thought of thee, But, alas, was ever penned The spirit as it ought to be! To the Children of Liberty. 45 TO THE CHILDREN OF LffiERTY Aged nations that can never understand The love two children bear unto this Land Of Liberty, whence comes their Power — stand, For Liberty, our Mother, ruleth here. Rejoice, O stars of the west that shine above The Builders of this fabric of real love Which the great hearts of two lands interwove, For Liberty, our Guide, rules ever here. O, Sons and Daughters, fill your hearts with pride For lo ! your Mother standeth by your side. Behold how fair, how strong, how blessed, your guide. Tis Liberty, your Strength, stands ever here. O, favored Daughters of the fair, strong, free, Keep your hands busy with, let your eyes see With glowing pride, this Light of Liberty That throws its beams around this still dark sphere. 46 A Country Store Window. Stand you before this Light with reverend feet ; Let your two hands across the waters meet ; For ever may your hearts together beat For Liberty, your Mother, who rules here. Believe in Something. 47 BELIEVE IN SOMETHING. Better is the man who worships Need Than he who hath no God. Ay and far better He that hath a creed of any nature Than he, that Godless one, who hath no creed. There are two ways of following your faith, (Which is the only guide) by bond of Love Or chain of Law; Religions both. One saith That Love is stronger than the Law to move. 48 A Country Store Window. THE USE OF STUDY. Go from the study of deep verse to sound, To Music, Melody; unearth your Soul And scatter it upon the air around ; A spring, new digged, just oozing from the ground. Epitaph. 49 EPITAPH FOR A GOOD MAN»S TOMB, We seemed, ourselves, his hopeless debtor, For his presence gave us better Than we ever gave. Ev'n though to Thee he is not so, We pray Thee, good Lord, save His soul alive that we may go Not hopeless to the grave. 50 A Country Store Window. WOMAN'S PART. When the heart of man is weary Where shall he find rest? Who knows but that weary man? In a woman's breast. When man's sorrowing heart is stirred To do the devil's command, Where can he find the warning touch Save in a woman's hand? When the heart of man is bursting, Bursting wide apart, Where can he find the soothing voice But in a woman's heart? If, when despair hath thrown his heart To earth, he doth complain, What but a woman's love can make God's man of him again. That Crow Pen. 51 THAT CROW PEN. I SING of that crow, the carrion Pen An evil necessity of much import To wise, sentimental, ambitious men Who rejoice that it feeds on the corpse of a thought. Alas, how soon a thing is naught! A light peeps slyly o'er the brain And winks a little at a thought But slips as slyly back again. How many morals do we point So neatly in the head, but then To have them all put out of joint By being pecked at by the Pen. What sentimental episodes Of hearts have wandered through our brain, That shrieked and ran in divers roads At being pecked at by the Pen. 52 A Country Store Window. SONG. Could I be glad if on thy heart I left no trace of pain? I know that if my love but smart I do not love in vain. My pleasure is the circumstance Of pleasure unto thee ; Except when those dear eyes do dance For any man but me. 'Tis heaven shining in your eyes When you smile on my prayers. If not — those stars within the skies Sink to low burning fires. These hasty lines were never penned- Only to give thee pleasure; On their flying wings my heart I send That you may know its measure. A Song of the "Second Son." 5S A SONG OF THE ''SECOND SOW A girl's face have I never known, (Therefore sing we merrily), Except my grandam's in mine own, And that was dealt out charily. An ugly scar is the kiss I bear, (Rumpty, rumpty, ribberty). But what care I if she only care. For she's my mother Liberty. Our house was once a well-kept house. Alack, for my grandam's boudoir! A rat crept in, but only a mouse Scurried off to the good war. The March wind of the war's blown over. Up shoots the Spring. Alas, Some lie in the Sun and clip warm clover^ Or hide in the long, green grass. 54 A Country Store Window. Not I — but a man, I've heard them say, May kill himself by thinking; He'll either write a book some day, Or drown himself by drinking. So, search for a home the wide world ovei And return — where? Anywhere; Only marry a loving girl and love her. Home is everywhere. A cousin's left on the snobby side ; By Eve, I do not know her. She's risen above her grandam's pride — I've fallen three times lower. I'd rather come across by chance My beauty on the downs, Than court a maid in the gilded dance Of unregenerate towns. A girl's face have I never known; Good men and sirs, a riddle : With one-half up and the other down, Whose balance for the middle? A Thought. 55 A THOUGHT. Ah ! when the Soul is emptied of its storm Man is no more ; his name hath passed away The Soul it is that keeps the body warm; When this hath gone it is but lifeless clay. I tell thee, body, if thou wouldst live long, Live for thy Soul and it shall bless two lives. One here and one where Soul's great gift of song Rejoices, grows, gives pleasure, and thus thrives. 56 A Country Store Window. THE LOVER TO SIR JOHN SUCKLING. Nay, if, sweet John, by looking well Her love I cannot have, By looking ill I may compel The sympathy I crave. I would not lose by looking well What looking ill could save. Our "Art " Critics. 57 OUR ''ART'* CRITICS. Ask one who dares not speak Before his witty brother? But why not go at once and seek Your answer from the other ; Ask him who knows why, "Why?" "I don't know really," says he. Nor do I know why he should lie Except — he's too damn lazy. 58 A Country Store Window. THE WORD WE ALL WAIT FOR. From the nape of her neck she lifted her warm brown hair And her round white arm did vein it as a wing Of grace that covered me, stilled with a fear. That dared not think she let the firm arm swing Around my neck. But 'twas just then I heard A whisper, a word I had long prayed to know ; Was never heard such music nor power in a word — The Power of Thrones, the Music of a will bent low. Work. 59 WORK. I HEARD a man declare Work was beneath him. Yes, Yes, if the will be there To lay work low, it is. 60 A Country Store Window. OUR ENEMY. If not yourself, of all men not at rest You'd rather be this man whom you detest? True, for we hate him most, it seems to me. Who seems to be what we were born to be. A Game of Tennis. 61 A GAME OF TENNIS. Her strong voice by the strain of pique Breaks richly, and her milk-white teeth Smile vexedly, within their sheath Of blushing lips. She tries to speak Amiably, but one can see That she is piqued, for the hot blush Colors her skin; the long fine brush Her loose brown hair ; pray, let it be. Her deep brown eyes grow deeper stained, They flush, they seem to weep for shame, They flash and say, "You are to blame," They weep and say, "Please understand." Men's hearts grow big for smaller things. She bounds away, she bounds away To join her sister in the play, Off from the racquet, pique she flings. 62 A Country Store Window. O, lithe, O, strong, O, bright, O, small, "And what is iove'?" I seek her eyes; "Love is nothing," she replies, And hits me lightly with a ball. O, graceful, rich, how quick each move; "If 'love' is naught, is pity the same?" "Yes ; three all." Deuce take the game ; I give up everything — for love. "In a 'love' game no points you make." "Why, sooth, then, I must let you win?'* "If you'd be won." "Well, then, begin ;" "I'll win in spite of — for your sake." "That speech is worthy of your name ; A manly love I want that fights For that in which it most delight." "There : 6 to 5. Fve won the game." The Hudson River. 63 THE HUDSON RIVER. Some summer day, Oh, follow the wind That blows warm up the Tappan Zee, Fair as far as eye can see Before, and fair as far behind. Beyond the strong, broad Palisades The Hudson, dignified of kills, Winds calm and wide between low hills And stretching far away it fades By sun-white villages and towns, Where fishing boats bob on the rocks. Or low green points and busy docks 'Mid factory smoke and buzz and groans. A steamboat creaking at the docks Twists their rheumatic rotten bones. Men at derricks, sawing stones. Hoist into barges great gray blocks. 64 A Country Store Window. Beware, beware the black shad poles That give the river many stabs. O, ye small fishers of small crabs, Near shore you'll scoop them up in shoals. Pleasure yachts dart up and down Like aimless crows from limb to limb, And anchor suddenly, at whim. Near peaceful country seat or town. Tlie eye might think the river's course At yon green slope would meet its end, Or mountain barred; 'tis but a bend Turning with a graceful force. Now straight and narrow doth it run. Now broad between the drifting shades Of neighbor hills turns like the blades Of wet oars flashing in the sun. The Evils of Learning. 65 THE EVILS OF LEARNING, Of two, who both their autumn days had turned, One was bright and cultured, one was learned ; One was human, one was unconcerned With human things, and while he ever yearned With eyes raised to yon silver-lined cloud Shunned mother earth and all her vulgar brood. What do dry leaves of knowledge bring, for- sooth ? They fall in the Autumn at the Springs of youth And choke them and, when dead, a putrid growth Of sneers crawls at the once pure welling mouth. 66 A Country Store Window. REFLECTIONS ON THE DEAD WASHINGTON. Few there be within this mortal world Who hold their country mortal ; ev'n behold The Jews, into a raging sea gulf hurled, Sink not, but, desolate, float far and wide. Now, behold, how fearlessly we ride. That new built vessel, launched, stood out to sea Most nobly, being proud of her strong birth. Her proud crew, how they watched her carefully, Cut off from tyranny of mother earth, Making their own laws on their own land. They were a nation — by God's own command. II. This is the man who rode 'neath floral arcs, Raised by his country-women — (hail the sound!) where before He pushed at night through ice and saw the sparks Reflections. 67 From half-burned villages and tools of war. The "Defenders of the Mothers" now has proved Protector of the Daughters whom he loved. III. One is made great by what he doth reveal ; Another, still, from what he doth conceal; And yet how small the individual Moved by the tiny wills of men, too far Away from God to know how small they are. Washington, who for a mighty cause Filled a continent with Wars, Made the world ring with applause Yet heard it not, for such he was, Who rising from the commonplace Drew out thence a noble race. IV. O, God, to see upon the temple's heart, And proudly waving from her holy crest. The colors of our country ! She is blessed Out of all nations. Church and State are one. Praise God. Though there be rifts upon the sun 68 A Country Store Window. There are none in it. Washington is dead. And now we seem to look upon his face As there it lay in state with holy grace About his bed. A moment since that power, that mighty human life Drew divine circles 'round him — but now he is dead. Whatever thing your conscious or unconscious Outward eye may catch in rolling 'round, That maketh full equipment of your world From pole to pole, from heaven to earth, must perish. The unknown soul, the only thing that is. All things are an illusion to this soul Excepting love, hence love is all the world, Pines not at distance (as all nature does Which measures but a part) is even here While yet a thousand miles away. Alas, Love that feels distance is but love in part ; When near, 'tis but a warning of the heart. One love we shall not know till Vv^e have seen The Unknown and matter fades as though it had not been. Reflections. 69 VI. It must have sapped the hearts of those who bled With that face high among them in the lead; How empty felt those hearts when they began to fill Who knew thy face through fame, to see thy face so still. O, how must it awe those hearts who dread A face they've never seen, to see it dead. VII. God-seeking man by all means seek a God Though he be one unknown; more for this rea- son. Place Fear and Trust and Love in Trust and Wisdom, As a pure child lives to an Unknown Father, Else shalt thou worship idols and the like. The Unknown God is God of all salvation. 70 A Country Store Window. THE CURSE OF THE CUP OF GOLD, The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof, And, of all, a good woman's the fairest to see ; But the fairest of all of them scorns my love And makes Hell of a beautiful world for me. Love is the wine and the Cup is your Soul, Oh ! pour pure wine in your golden bowl. Drink (but beware of the curse in thy cup That lies in the bottom. Fill, fill it up Full to the top. Drink — not too much Or you'll love the dregs at the lip's first touch. But, oh ! for the purest wine must hold The dregs of earth, the lees of hell That settle down in the goblet of gold Like the seven spirits come to dwell — That bubble up in the living cup When the Wine is there and all tastes well. The Curse of the Cup of Gold. 71 So drink, my soul, of the dregs and lees 'Till you learn to love what is cheaply sold; So that any woman may serve to please The curse that lies in you, Cup of Gold. Oh ! what a curse — there is none worse, That double damnation — to love one's curse. But, oh ! that my love might love to be My fay in my cup of gold for me. 72 A Country Store Window. ON THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN. What age improves can not be manifest 'Till age hath proved it. Thou may'st call one best But canst not tell how great he then vi^ill be Except thou knov^'st the number of years man hath to live. Thou canst not put too great a price upon The head of him w^ho after death grows greater, Stampt with the stamp of Truth, Sun after Sun, He hath a claim upon all human nature. Judge not the great Dead; take — what they are pleased to give. Confessions. 73 CONFESSIONS. To Vibgyor, a man of many moods; A spirit lying in the haunted woods Of maple, ebony, sycamore and deal Fashioned by mortal to this body real. A spirit of Smishine and of Rain For which no human yet hath found a name But that in which it dwells, which is the same. Is called by men and me a violin. It is not just In you to doubt and in your doubt to tease Me into more confessions ; so I trust You'll not doubt these. XL Youth and its age The tender eye may see within a tear Circling; shattered now upon the page We read in fear. 74 A Country Store Window. So swift is man. Boyhood, youth, manhood whirling to Light, Melt in th' horizon; but a few years can Keep him in sight. O, Large-eyed Love That keeps forever the Memory of man, Keener than years beyond that Sphere doth move Of Life's Span. in. Thou wilt not find How I can labor for thy love and mark Thy words that do not hurt as somehow kind, Though they be dark. Thou wilt not see (It seemeth mad presumption, I suppose) How all my work is work of love for thee, Beneath the rose. My plea, forsooth ! Am I all words and not one single deed? Is it not deed enough to tell the truth If one's heart bleed Confessions. 75 To prove it so? I have done things thine eyes have never felt: Know then, though sown beneath their light to grow, Alas, they melt Beneath thy scorn. They are not plants to flourish 'neath thy pride. Forgive me if my justice prove a thorn Within your side. Be thou content. Spite of thy hurled and withering flame of scorn This purifying flame is never spent, Eternal, Heaven born. IV. When thee I saw Somehow I thought I was not made for thee, But reading the Old and New Books of the Law I now see Love is a tool . That shapes the rough material of old law, Thus, for it needs it, thou shalt shape my soul Around its core. 76 A Country Store Window. Love Is thy tool. God supplies the Soul which woman makes, Oh ! what He gives, make what thine own pure Soul Loves — for our sakes. V. Where is your heart That you have none to mend a broken one. Gladly would I learn the secret Art That makes it stone. Not art, I ween. But Nature cooled to stone your glowing life, Ii. looking back on flames of what hath been, Like Lot's wife. VL Where thine eyes turn Mine follow and the passion of my Soul Grows sadly dreaming in them and I yearn In their control. Confessions. 77 O, I would loose The benediction light of the full stars That through deep night keep pouring their cool dews Upon Earth's scars. Yea, this I own. To feel the light of pity from thine eyes Dissolving through mine own and sinking down Make this to rise And hate thy pity As something worthy of a wounded pet. Surely man may claim more than weak pity, Child of Regret. Where thine eyes turn Mine linger and the passion of my Soul Grows madly earnest in them and I yearn I dream, I dream For their control. VII. To do some unique service unto men And place myself as one in thine esteem; But what then? 78 A Country Store Window. I may be poet, Soldier, merchant or philanthropist ; How shall I be awakened, then, to know it Till thou hast kissed ? I dream, I dream To do some unique service unto men And make its service worthy thine esteem, A service, then. That shines, a Star That hath no occultation 'neath the sod, Enveloped in the radiant atmosphere Of Love from God. VIII. If in thy heart T do not please thee, show me where I fail ; Oh! let some kindly interest tear apart The Social Veil And point the place Where Nature blundered and she shall remould That in the light of thine approving face In purest gold. Confessions. 79 Nay, touch the place That hath not bloomed; thy touch shall start to life The unquickened Virtue looking to thy face To make it rife. IX. What can I do To give Truth breath ? Your doubting gives m.e pain. The power of believing lies in you, Else truth is vain. The Light of day To many offspring phases now doth move And the last, night, still lingers by the way. The stars above From the milky way Burn clear and purify th' unsettled night. Now hath the last phase, this dark film of day. Bound up the light. Hath disappeared Shattered by Starlight, by the night wind fanned, Settled by the Moon. How clearly dim, how weird The broad, still land. 80 A Country Store Window. To be near thee, Night, Kind and Elder Sister of young Love, Thus to be near thee is a still delight, For you move Ever near Your younger sister with deep influence. Contentment and calm fancies only here, In thy queen presence Seem to exist; Grow fiercer in the battle of the day ; Nymphs turned to Furies flying where they list Upon their prey. Yes, I have learnt To long for Stars that be too far awav. Yet winged Hope hath touched the Light and burnt Into this lay. Love, the Unknown. 81 LOVE, THE UNKNOWN, In season, oft we twang heart strings And harps with artificial passion Till that pettish old Dame Fashion Turns our thoughts to other things. But passion's Soul can hold his own Though Mammon scoff at his conceit Who throws himself at Psyche's feet Nor bows before a tinsel throne, So over the Sea of Love sails Love Well balanced in the Winds of Strife, That Life is Love and Love is Life, That is the thing that I would prove. That Sun-warmed winds support and fill The Sails of Time with breath of Love. This is the thing that I would prove. And Love may wander where she will. 82 A Country Store Window. That Sea and Ship and Wind and You All breathe life from the Sun of Love, This is the thing that I would prove For, oh ! I feel it to be true, Yet, who of us hath sounded Love. To know its deep and shallow parts, Or shifting winds of human hearts That fill Love's sail and make it move ? Society. 83 SOCIETY. I HATE thee well, but let it pass ; IVe salve and antidotal sip *Gainst her who cuts with blade of grass And kisses with a poisoned lip. 84 A Country Store Window. TAYLOR'S GOETHE'S FAUST I Did Goethe write "Faust" for the matter? Ev'ry tongue should, then, taste. No? What, then; for the metre? S-o-o — let it remain in the tongue of the latter And puzzle the foreign translator. There's Taylor, that foolish translator Whose verses flow flat while his volume grows fatter, Trying to follow the form of the metre And missing the force of the matter. But the atmosphere one should transplant, The Rhyme and the grace of the feet. Time and Place, Gan you transplant these f Go along with your cant; Ev'ry mind is wrapped in its ozvn grace. In the '' Bauble Shop." 85 TO ONE ACTING IN THE ^BAUBLE SHOP.'' A STAR broke through the black of night While men slept deep in sighs ; It shines there still, a pure white light Upon their waking eyes. Awake, to feel how good a thing Is chivalry! My Star, Men do love honor ; you but bring A light to show men where they are. 86 A Country Store Window. STANZAS IN THE OLD STYLE. I. One meets Love in the early fields When Nature counts no time; What comfort to the Day she yields The poet weaves in rhyme; To look at Nature fills his heart with scorn For those who do not love the early morn. II. One need not be a poet to express Honest admiration ; none the less I would Euterpe's rhetoric were mine To sing the grace which honors Rhetoric Divine. III. If I were poet thy bright name Would group in every line The constellation of a fame Where every word would shine. Stanzas in the Old Style. 87 As from the Moon the sunless shadows creep So from thy presence thousands of my wishes weep. IV. Nature whispered to me on a day, ''Scorn pretty words, say what you have to say And leave to Truth the cutting of the stone Which by reflected light upon the heart is thrown." V. Every minute holds a world of dreams. Had we the breadth of knowledge to inclose Each thought unconscious in as many themes, All men would be word-poets, I suppose ; For Nature's in the Soul of every man And at the window self she shows whene'er she can. VI. If I should sing to thee a bitter song Would'st thou believe the gall a drink for thee? Nay, 'tis my fortune that hath done me wrong, That hath not filled thy heart with love of me. 88 A Country Store Window. VII. Since to describe thy nature gazing out With great, calm beauty overlooking all, Needs more than Rhetoric, needs that Devout Sense of Nature in the hearer's Soul, May I not be forgiven for the crime Of trusting to the nature of the readers of my rhyme ? VIII. If, then, I can teach men to see thy Nature, Sympathy shall make them call you fair For in that sympathy their flow of rapture Shall bear them to my heart and they shall see you there. IX. Doubt is the air to those white wings of Hope. Hope were not Hope did we foresee its fate. O, Last of All and Best, though thou didst ope Pandora's Box, good luck thou wert too late! For though you opened it, you did remain To lure back your deserting friends again. Stanzas in the Old Style. 89 To calmly contemplate upon dead facts Which can delight your energy no longer; Or strain thy hopeful eyes to cherished acts, Or dreams of fame — which makes the heart beat stronger? O, Leaping Love, when those high dreams depart Joy bursts and falls in ruins on the heart. XI. Take it in the cold vault of thy brains, O, gray young students, numbed by classic winds ; Let warm Love leap upon your icy chains And kindle fire in your chilly minds. XII. Not if the Moon should kiss the burning Sun, Dear woman, would it startle my belief In the dim fixed Star of my fortune As much as if I saw thee share my grief. I only ask thy grievance for the fate That makes one bosom love, the other hate. 90 A Country Store Window. XIIL Ah ! Cast this not aside and think me fool. Low laughter and word wisdom may prove this, But look deep down and thou shalt find a Soul That loves thee better than a Summer's kiss. What more can selfish human nature say Than that he loves thee more than his own clay ? XIV. Difiidence is boldest in true things And speaks the heart, perhaps when 'twere best not; But let it pass, you caught the flash of wings Through flooding light — 'twas blinded Hope that shot Up into Heaven and is lost. The door Hath shut, the light shall trouble you no more. A Prayer. 91 A PRAYER. Brave men in Christ do welcome woes If they would prove their Christian merit. Lord, set us in the midst of foes But gird us with love's Spirit. Yes, there are loves upon this earth That to but earthly passions move. Grant that th' affections of this world May turn us facing toward Thy love. 92 A Country Store Window. THE RHINE, O, River, by the hand of Time Carved, and seasoned in Old Wine, Of thee I sing, O, Ancient Rhine, Thou picture in a mouldy frame. Thou art too old for one who sings Of love in pretty verse of praise; Thy venerable name doth raise The dust of million thunderings Of all-time w^ars upon thy slopes. Of charges on thine iron gates, Of castles full of bursting fates. Of nations straining at great hopes. 'Tis hard to think of thee as Real ; So full of fiction and of truth That truth seems fiction, yes, and both Are like the dreams v^rhich v^e reveal The Rhine. 93 To bosom friends in hasty rhymes. Yet we can touch the proof of strife ; A ruined picture of still-life To illustrate the olden times. Now Poetry may doubt the thing Which History will calmly swear to ; But her large child eyes do not care to. Loving facts which she may sing. 94 A Country Store Window. A PIECE OF SENTIMENT. Should a pale and melancholy moon Steal o*er the path of a star-peopled sky And enter any dreary mood of mine ; While through the garden glass-door of the study The lamp's seen burning for a Summer's read ; Should I then linger in the old oak's shadow Musing on a cold hope's dried-up seed? What if the seed spring up into a meadow Full of the wildest flowers, with a great Forlorn desire to give them wings to thee ? What could I do? The memory is sweet Of having sent them ere I crossed the sea. The Woman's Way. 95 THE WOMAN'S WAY. A WOMAN standeth at the gates of Heaven And beggeth but a key (she will not knock). The Key of Love. O, Man, if this be given, Enter thou with her, she has found the lock. 96 A Country Store Window. RUMORS* Hearts are not broken till the Truth is known. Rumors strike but flashes on the stone, Proving the metal and disproving death, Creating Hope and building up a faith. Summer Dawns. 97 SUMMER DAWNS. *'Let there be light," God said, and lo, the light Shattered the black horizons of the night And opened the blind pathways of the sky. The great Sun rose in new authority. Let there be light. A hundred echoes creeped Through every crevice of the Earth and leaped Around the heavens, making all things seen For the first time ; the Sun began to reign, And lo, the light came rolling in, in waves, Pushing the thick darkness to the caves. Now full of it, as though the Spirit of Night, Retreating from the penetrating Light, Haunted the deep, dark caverns of the Earth Whence, Sun-reached, Rivers came, formed where there is no mirth! Sometimes the morning rushes to the Earth With willing gladness in her sunny looks. Sometimes she lingers in the angry sky, (Not in the humor for a holiday) To make the gold wing of the oriole flash Like a lone flame athwart the burning sky ; 98 A Country Store Window. To stand still on the hills and sudden dash With overbalanced joy into tlie day, Or part iier way into some pondering wood That, like a hermit, dwells in solitude Upon the mountain side. Glance on the brooks, O, Morning Light, and smile as at your mighty birth. Aubade. V)9 AUBADE. On morning winds huge night hath flung Her heavy wings, to rest on thought; Which float away to rising day; Dark Spirits, melting into naught. But hath night gone? I cannot see These things of Nature, great or small, Except thou shinest out for me To magnify them all. Then let this shattered stream, O, Love, By Sun's first random shot, Dance through thy window pane and move Thy beauty to shine out. .0; O. 100 A Country Store Window NO REED, THIS. If I should love you, Think it not strange That I should hate you Were you to change. My ideal, you prove such A possible thing That — how could I love much What's not what I sing? One can't feel a little What's superlative; Life, bent, snaps; so brittle You die or you live If love bendeth late . .To aught other sense It snappeth to hate — Not indifference. No Reed, This. 101 Hate me to death If you care. // you care You've but strangled the breath Of despair, of despair. 102 A Country Store Window. O, LITTLE CHILD. Like rubber your affections! Your desires Bound, stretch ; beguiled By no world images, no fetish fires, But worshipping what's kind to what you like. Heaven's nearer you than those who gave you life. All your belief is in its first vigorous youth, Waiting no proof, because you know no doubt You're an apostle of a great new truth, As though you had been witness of the strife Falsehood prepared with such a mighty shout ; Had seen Truth conquer ere Falsehood — even dared to strike. To a Girl. 103 TO A GIRL SPOILED BY SOCIETY. What I give you is, as the air, Unseen, unthought of and free; All you deign now to give me — the fare Of a ball, a perpetual tea. I love you ; I know you will take My love, when you need it o'ermuch. Then I love you for sentiment's sake, Till I feel your so delicate touch? 'Tis possible — Till there's a break In your bottle-fly life of a flirt ; Then your uppermost spirits will slake — And — be drunk by ubiquitous Dirt. 104 A Country Store Window. THE FOREST OF SIN. O, Forest of Enchanting Sin How have ye trapped Old Age And lured the Young Blood deeper in And mystified the Sage. Within a hollow oak Age stoops, Unnerved and blind and weak, And with gnarled, fumbling fingers gropes Out of his cage to seek The field that at the wood's edge lies. Lo, where the boughs are torn asunder Age peers out with bleared eyes And Youth stares in with wonder. Brushing by the old man's beard Youth trips him by the old man's crutch And, rushing in where Wisdom feared, Scorns Wisdom as they touch. The Forest of Sin. 105 The Sage stands on a spot ; fine spun, Gold-tangled light through branches driven : And tries to think the Vv^orld he's in Clear open up to heaven. 106 A Country Store Window. FOR AN ALBUM. I WOULD I had the art to sing, For pen is mightier than the Sword, — Or so they say. Should you be bored Here's that which vanquishes the tongue, Great Golden Silence, which may mean Most naturally everything Of good that girls have ever been And Praise that men have ever sung. Soul and Intellect. 107 SOUL AND INTELLECT. Man's intellect doth hold supremest place Among all gifts of God. 'Tis mind that makes The World man's pleasure ground, and all things in it Minister to all his needs. The more The Matter and the Opportunity The deeper is this pleasure and the higher. With reason we may then suppose heaven's joy One great, eternal feast of Intellect; Of wondrous Truths made clear through man's own search ; Of dainty problems solved in gentle dreams. But — where's the Soul? You ask it — heaven forgive you. 'Tis only through perfection of the Soul Man's mind can lighten at God's wondrous works. 108 A Country Store Window. THE NATURE-CURE. Look up, and if perchance some orgie seem The apotheosis of all human weakness, Unto your detestation, heaven's shame, You of the earth, so sick of the earth's sickness, Throw in your strength with Nature ; e'en though rough She's glorious play; you cannot get enough. You sigh for that? O, bare your throat again As she goes rushing by. Still all in vain ; You cannot get enough yet — but you can Be weary soon of passions among man. Bear thine eyes upward to the holy sky And say what see'st thou there? No trace of earth Hath ever lain across her sanctity Or stung her pure complexion with an oath. Another Sonnet on Nature. 109 ANOTHER SONNET ON NATURE. There are some things which men call beautiful. Which lie about us under human care ; They twist and turn to fashion, are as dull As artless art and loved as they are rare. O, little Man, pleased with each new device Of your own hand, look into heaven's dome Swelling with beauty ; will not this suffice Most ardent eyes a thousand years to come ? The saddest things are those of natural beauty ; Create the calmest peace in troubled sight; Such sorrow soothes and makes delight a duty, This joy, then, makes all duty a delight. Create fine arts according to their kind But make them not the horizon of the mind. 110 A Country Store Window, SONNET. O, LITTLE Child of Genius, yet untaught Thy father's trade, let me look in thine eyes; Do wonders shoot across them, all uncaught As Light at first shot through chaotic skies? Here can I see, still hushed, those mystic bowers Where mind and spirit dally and delay? Shall these grow conscious, soon, of some great powers Which may, ev'n now, between them be at play? Art thou, then, of that holy line of Gods, Which mystifies the world and laughs at Kings ? Wilt, thou, too, shatter sceptres with thy rods Of laurel, bearing monarchs on thy wings? Thy games are all in all to thee, so far; Thou art a child as other children are. Love, the Known. Ill LOVE, THE KNOWN. O, Love, once unseen, now given To eyes that have longed for thee ; fair As one long vision of heaven — There, while thou seemest not there; IVe found thee sweeter than dreams, I've found thee stronger than deeds, For thou art the Heart of the World And the Soul of that Heart as it bleeds. 112 A Country Store Window. THE TRAITOR'S FLIGHT. Rode softly at first. Then he broke into a nervous trot. Then, suddenly, rode at a furious speed. The clapping of hoofs one could hear, coming near; Far away He is fled In the dead of the night ; Like a shot He is freed. Ah ! No one guessed in any town Who was passing — what renown; *Twas when the eye of night closed down. 'Twas Arnold ; the Traitor ? Well, speak of him well, (For his nerves were charged at the touch of a spell!) If you speak at all. Let him speed out of sight, He was great — he was cursed. Sonnet. 113 SONNET. In the late afternoon just as the Sun Begins to soften, ripening the Earth, Blending hard glares and shadows into one Dark yellow tone, oh ! then thy time 'tis worth To gently push through white-head^ fields of wheat, Just clouded by the Sun so that they hold Their heads to heaven, making the air sweet, Imparting to the Earth a yellow mould. Perchance suggesting winds may blow a grain Of thought upon a calm, a world-freed brain. Thou hast a fair long evening to unfold Thy seed in meditation free from strain; Or else thou mayest put it in a form Of verse to keep the weary winter warm. 1 14 A Country Store Window. THE LIGHT THAT FAILS NOT. The Laborer, Earth, stretched out in sleep, full length, While heaven stoops gently down with grave night smile Caressing his rough hair. Oh ! let her wile Her vigil o'er his work-anointed strength. This is the vision rises at the thought Of those who claim no God and prove their shame. Whence came these rules of harmony ; whence came The laws of Love? Yes, from a higher Court Than such have ever dreamed of ev'n in doubt. . At Death, Heaven kisses Earth — and there he lies. Hast ever seen the Light in dying eyes? That is the Light they try to reason out ; And sleep and death are kin ; the Light of Dreams May be but shadows of Death's Light in gleams. Song. 115 SONG. To cast off the old flesh (When Love's young days are dead) And gaze upon the Soul as fresh As Spring's eternal bed! When Love's young days are dead, What shall we do for pain? Lament the things which we have said, Or wish them said again? 1 16 A Country Store Window. CHRISTMAS EVE. The night is cold and the moon is cold, The sky cold, clear, vast, thin; And, oh! the warm heart of many a man Lies shivering in a sin. A woman, wailing on the stair For fear of nothing known ; A.S a haunted bitch, bewildered witch. Bays at the magic moon That through yon battered shutter slips A finger, long, thin, fresh And in a cold passion slowly bends To touch a dead man's flesh, "Murder, murder ; what have I done ?" A man moans in the room ; And moans again as in a sv/oon, "My murdered man's my doom." Christmas Eve. 117 The finger moves, the rotten door Creaks, and the woman stares hi. Oh! Awful Conscience, for his face Lies staring towards his sin. With silent breath she thinks aloud, ''Thou shalt do no murder." Hush, hush! She shuts the door behind; ''My flesh," — but no man heard her. ''O, Fountain of all Life, thou first. For thou know'st what I need ! Beauty of Holiness, I thirst, For / have sinned indeed." The night's still cold, the moon is cold The sky cold, clear, vast, thin; But, O, the warm heart of many a man Lies shivering in his sin. Put out that light. Lo, morn's rays fall Dissolving, warm, the night. O, Love, the Pure, hath seen it all And swept the v/orld with Light. 118 A Country Store Window. Lo, how God, Love, ignoring sin Makes sin ashamed. What then? That is repentance — Love within That sweeps night out of men. God, Browning, You and L 119 GOD, BROWNING, YOU AND L At last, at last ! A modern child of God Hath called God "Father" ; He hath called him "Son" By pouring His own Grace upon his head — No busy debates upon "The Three in One." At last! A poet's mind that we can trust, That hath not critic gnawed the Book away Nor died at night like moths born of the dust That sparkles in the sunbeams of the day. Ah ! truly, when we find a man can love For love's own sake, we love all things for his. Look straight into the firmament above; Love is immortal and Love only. This The way of my faith; because you are, God is; And since I have love, which is God in me, I am. Because you are, I am, then God must be. 120 A Country Store Window. ONE TOUCH OF LIGHT, ONE TOUCH OF LOVE* To-day, Soul, work is best, While the Stars lose their control. When the Night comes then men rest And a Star draws forth the Soul. To follow, Soul, a Star; To labor after Light, Only to find how far you are How wrapt in the real night! Woe, oh ! woe ; there is Enough woe in the world Without the black veil of this O'er thy fair face unfurled. I would the veil were light And help to make it long; I would all things were right, Yet help to make them wrong. One Touch of Light. 121 Oh ! that my Soul would fight And conquer and be strong. Fool, black will not turn white Through singing of a Song! Not that I sinned so much Since I had seen her face, Only — her Spirit's touch Laid bare all that was base. One touch of Light — dazed Soul Back into Body driven ; Add but one touch of Love — the whole Is drawn up into heaven. 122 A Country Store Window. A KISS. A KISS, why that means everything: Hope waiting on a charger ; The little circumscribing ring That makes Soul so much larger ; The little breath beneath the wing That makes the young bird surer; The drop in rose-heart that will fling The leaves wide out, maturer; The single Star of Evening That makes the night light purer; The bit o' sweet that makes men sing Spite all the world o' sorrow ; The honey-bee without the sting (But that'll come to-morrow) ; The sign that makes a heathen king To Christian love aspire ; The touch upon an underling That bids him go up higher; The very Rhinegold that did bring The Gods out of Valhalla; The little God-stone in the sling That made Goliath stnaller ; A Kiss. 123 The little tierce a Picardie That in a perfect cadence Throws Sunshine in a minor key And ends it all in major; Or like the shout of victory When battle seems to fade hence; Or like the crown of misery That circles 'round a martyr; Or like the light a man shall see Upon the face of Nature When she hath driven him to flee To Athens out of Sparta. Two streams meet and where they beat Make force and rainbow weather, This and all this lies in a kiss — For two Souls rush together. 124 A Country Store Window. NINETEENTH CENTURY TENDENCY. The Chinese and the Turk. Down thunders the Tartar with blundering force To fall on a lance of the Sun, A ray of light shot through his barbarous course — Veins where the Spider spun. Two feet less for the Universe To fumble with and fall ; Two things less for man to curse On this terrestrial ball. Winter Roses to a Singer. 125 WINTER ROSES TO A SINGER. Here is a Summer bloom To meet the matchless voice That calls it forth from the Winter gloom Beneath the snow and ice. An Angel shining into a tomb Makes dead men to rejoice ; Accept these hearts you've brought to bloom In your own Paradise. 126 A Country Store Window. THE BORES. A MAN I hardly know at all, And, of my beautiful, my sister, Fawns such fulsome flatt'ries! Call? No, no, the beggar shall not visit her, A good card wasted — no, Til use And mark it "One you must refuse." Another I ne'er met before Recalls my face but not my name — Had seen me with my sister — Bore, You shall go back the way you came! Fools to each other should be known ; ''Here's my card." — (It's not my own.) These bores were strangers once; the same As I to them. They knew no name But met each other with a bow — Doubtless they know each other now. A Swoon 127 A SWOON AT THE FIRST ^HIFF OF SUMMER^ I LONG for the time of the year When such love-songs are sung As Spring shall press on the frozen ear With her soft, warm tongue. O, May, my rhyme, my reason. Bud blown from the Equinox, (In full sweet bloom for the bees), Sun, shade of maturer time and season, Ripe to the lees, 'Tis orthodox To borrow, beg, or steal. Song to whom Songs belong. Oh! I'd rather let you feel I feel Than sing you song. Heigh-ho — what can I take That is not already stolen ! Kiss from your lips — and dream — and make Your lips are stung? Have lost their pollen? A fool-dream's song — and wake — and wake? Even vours swollen? 128 A Country Store Window. IN AN OLD BOOK BELONGING TO A YOUNG GIRL. Clover, when dusted on, Looks dead and pale; So, when it's rained upon Looks fresh and hale: This old, dead poetry book Which you've wept over From eyes of heavenly look, Breathes fresh as clover. Poetria Ventura. 129 POETRIA VENTURA. Th' Olympic Olive, nor the Palm Nor Pythian Bay, though I were Greek Of Olden Time, have half the charm Of thine own eyes and brow and cheek. I wist, since Delphic Oracle Hath murmured low thy mystic name, To utter it would break the spell That keeps it mine ; 'twould fly to Fame. Let me awhile more guard this treasure ; Keep — me know it — me alone, Hail (since I must address my measure Through one worthy of a crown), Hail, Victor, this Olympiad, In music, valor, strength and prose! In our hearts worthy to be had; Most worthy had'st thou been her spouse. 130 A Country Store Window. Hush ; though thus softly have I sung Her nameless, even now that part, Her name, hath slipped my very tongue. With hand on lip ! By Pythian art, Hush, lest she slip my very heart. Away From the World. 131 AWAY FROM THE WORLD I MOCK IT. Here we have loved and lingered, here have lured Out of the World a Solitude for two; Nay; not a Solitude, but World assured Of its own bliss full shared by me and you. 132 A Country Store Window. SHE COMES AND GOES. There is a seed within the heart, Which men call Soul ; if love Shine on it, lo, the seed will part And life begin to move. O, joy, too great to blow in man So richly from the bud, Burst through this flesh, sing thyself out Before the feet of God. She comes, she comes with all Light in her, Moonlight, Starlight and the Light of Day, Not to eclipse the Night, but make the dark- ness thinner Through which I see both Heaven and Earth, And know God walks that way, Above her, 'neath her, in her. A little bit of a girl like that And I afraid to tell ; Why what a thing a Soul must be To cast so great a spell. She Comes and Goes. 133 A little honey- jar like that — All I see here uncurled^ Uncurling, limitless; all that? How she goes through the World. A little bit of a pearl like that All I have here unfurled Both head and heart, Soul of one Soul? How she must rule the World. Ring through the changes of my Song You'll find it all pure gold; For when I say she's such and such She proves me right fourfold. That way joy went, that way beauty, That way Soul and all Soul's duty; That way good went, wrapped in woman. That way all Earth sung in heaven; L,ife, and what is better yet. All good I've known that makes my pulses beat With living love Vv^ent that way down the street. All wound and bound and sound in one girl — a Coquette. 134 A Country Store Window. AN ECHO FROM **PIPPA/' But serve God first, then love God ; so You'll serve and love each other. 'All service ranks the same with God," And this makes Christ your brother ; Love last because it is the end Of graded service; first Of all equality and that Means all best and none worst. For an Album. 135 FOR AN ALBUM. You speak and I write my name In your roll of honor; and yet 'Tis better thus to have fame That leads you ever in debt, Rather than worry yourself with a claim Which the World will forget. 136 A Country Store Window. TO A WIFE. Music, Poetry, Travel; Thee, my Wife, My Star found in the heart of each of them ; ]\Iy Spirit of Bethesda, stirring Life Into the stagnant World; my heart's heart's gem; The fire of enthusiasm dances Like a will-o-the-wisp upon thine ocean eyes Filled full of Soul and gentle, mirthful fancies, Calm with a trust that breaks not, only sighs For surface winds to know that they must be. If thou canst trust, then, the impartial sea With all thy charms, canst thou, then, not trust me? Art. 137 ART. , . . . To run after Nature's Form? Don't hold her; she will die Within your arms. But warm Your Soul before her eye, She will not think to fly; You hold her with reflected charm. Touch her? You put out her eye And, when your Soul's no longer warm, Her image in your eye grows cold, A stiflf, dead Memory. O, do not hold. 138 A Country Store Window. WHATEVER YOUR MOOD SAYS. O, BiRD^ I see thy throat Bulge with a melody; Quick empty every note Ere it turn back to die. What is it makes one pant To hear thy song, sweet bird? If it is Love, thy chant Will soon be heard. 'Tis over. O, sweet bird, How my heart aches ; This song had ne'er been heard Else, for it slakes Love's burning pain — or feeds it; I care not which, for Love Is a sorrow that we love, that we'd sit Long with ere we move. Whatever Your Mood Says. 139 How quick our pleasures die, While Sorrow lingers long; They go out in a sigh, But Sorrow bears a song. Joy is but blind sorrow Flickering with Star eyes That die into the morrow. Now wilt thou arise Thou Spirit of Joy, thou Sorrow, Welcome as the Day. Teach me thy plans o' Morrow For thou art come to stay. 140 A Country Store Window. MY WORLD. Your life is the World I live in ; out Of that would be — not death, But worse than death, half-life that fears To eke out the half breath. Out of that would be out of the World; Things unproportioned seem. As to one living in the moon Or dying in a dream. Two Poets. 141 TWO POETS. That's he ; Love, Crime and Drinking Bout, Death, Roses; faultless were he greater; Mesmerizes with a web Of word's and dance of Satyr. This follows close the flow and ebb Of Life ; a buoy for faith is doubt; Oh ! I prefer man's heart to shout Of Prestidigitator. 142 A Country Store Window. AN OBSERVATION. The upper lid at the under lid Kept pecking timidly As wild birds flutter at the snow And back to heaven fly. Through this rainy lash and that Her glances slyly crept As though to see if any one Guessed that she really — wept; Yet all the time her tears fell through Like showers from the Sun. She looked so foolish — an she did I loved her for it, too. Ode to Wagner. 143 ODE TO WAGNER. How man-making is it to feel the warm Pulse o' the world a-throbbing in your breast. With your own heart's pulsations ; peace and storm With your heart's ragings and with your heart's rest. O, that I could but draw that Music in As one draws in a Soul by kissing it. What can man do but hear it? None hath seen Or touched it though it nerves the touch and sight To form and color they can never reach ; But ever following, the Soul grows rife To greater visions, mind to surer touch With heavenly things. So much Can music teach; Herself the will-o'-the-wisp that draws the essence out of Life. 144 A Country Store Window. Hail, blustering God that shapest the wind Out of thy mind ; Who call'st with a shout From the deep sea out A dead, a monstrous Silence rising most Like a distant Mountain through a blinding storm, A strange, huge animal with a velvet skin ; Or like a deep, dead Soul which some foul fiend hath caught. In Silence the naked Soul stands stripped of uttered thought. And we hear the echo of a storm A-stealing through the silence like a ghost Through empty halls where some carousing scene hath been. Hail, blustering God that shapest the wind Out of thy mind ; Who, out of thine eyes, Showeth Sun-sprinkled Stars And cleareth the skies Of thundering clouds and elemental wars, And makest sparkling Peace to reign in Paradise. A Model Birthday Ode. 145 A MODEL BIRTHDAY ODE. Dear Sophie, or Carrie (whatever the name), Here's a bracelet (with many returns of the same). I've turned Bard, and write verse to make sure that you know it, Though it's hard (but not worse than the cure, rotten eggs) To feel the sham hobby you're riding go lame And yet be uncertain whose rickety pegs Shake under the skirt — your own two, or four legs. Whip Peg in a go-cart, and, as I'm a poet, She'll lose caste — and character, kicking to show it. My wish is a toast ; ah ! more hearty, I wist Than the ringing frail glasses, this (w) ringing your wrist. Though only in symbol. Hear ! this is my toast ; May it more than o'erbalance the weight of my boast : 146 A Country Store Window. All our amenities good and as pleasant Be as the one we are passing at present ; That, when you come to weigh fully this line, Your wishes may be th' exact balance of mine. Upon this day of Grand Jubal (To solve now something tangible; Impertinent in only one sense, Which sense, without lamp of Bunsen's, A mole may see in this mine o' nonsense), Plain as any old Jew R, Tell me — just how old you are. As narrow, I, as Charles D Anjou ! Are you, then, Ghibelline or Guelph? What matters it since you are you. Just old enough to be yourself. And yet I ask, to tell the truth, (You will not answer) only that I, when I speak of perfect youth, May know what age to place it at. Have a good time in this bud-time, Nipt enough to make you reason Out your pleasure measure by measure And put some back to use next season. A Model Birthday Ode. 147 May that sand in the hour glass, Turned upside down once and again To make another hour pass, Just as fresh each time remain; And that between the Syzygies Of one short season you'll not think (As some girls do) that pleasure physic is To be gulped down and not to drink. To guard against this learn what Music is. But — if your pleasures then wane too soon (Through events beyond control) After full Moon there's a New Moon Waxing to another full. If I were an old man, mark you, I might speak of "life to-morrow," But I know of pleasure only, Half this life — the other's sorrow. No one is — (I must not fear it) — You are not to young to hear it ; Though old Wisdom croak above you Like a metamorphosed Spirit Cankered to a Crow — I love you! 148 A Country Store Window. THE FLOWER THAT YOU SWEAR BY. I CAN pick it in the garden Or buy it at the fair For a song or ha'penny farden To stick it in your hair, And it's red or pink or white or mottled. Thereby Hangs a Song to hum you : (But enough to buy that flower, So ye may judge its power) All colors do become you. Sing O, the little flower that you swear by. Now, I see it in your hair But I dare not pick it thence For I fear, who put there, That this or that will give offence. It takes the color of your mood and thereby Anything you choose to make it. (So, I swear it hath all power, O, the mighty little flower When I may, but dare not take it!) O, that little flower that you swear by. Says One Lover to Another. 149 SAYS ONE LOVER TO ANOTHER. For God's sake, don't lose heart, man, If your girl prove a curse. My girl will take your part, mau, (Or else prove ten times worse). 150 A Country Store Window. A PIECE OF MORALIZING. Ah ! well, for us it is hard To be good. To be good is to fight. And war maintains a close guard In the subtle peace of night, When the foe looks like a star To your star-gazing sight, And you move — stand where you are For that star gives no light. A Tale. 151 A TALE. There was a little girl With such a common name That when she met an Earl A countess she became. But 'twas a title which She purposely disclaimed Because her mastiff bitch Was similarly named. So the Earl arose, like Fate, And called her in his heat A name — appropriate — Which I cannot repeat. But Pride, not satisfied With this, the Earl's rebuke, Soon left her husband's side To dote upon a Duke. 152 A Country Store Window. Such are the weighty things Lead reasoning man to fall ! She fell in love with Kings And — left no name at all. Except this great Pen Name Which spread her shame abroad- For ere she came to — Fame (?) Her writings were ignored. And even so doth man Attain to his desire; Out of the frying pan He falls into the fire. Eyes of Hers. 153 EYES OF HERS. Each blue eye was a morning flower, Say a hare-bell, Morning-glory, With a winking ciewdrop in it, Full of dawn as her Soul of power, Every minute Showing light and purer sight. A story, Though it seemeth like a fable, True as Gospel. 154 A Country Store Window. APOSTROPHE TO A VIOLIN. There stands she blushing Hke a warm sky in June But stormy-eyed, as though my Truth were in it Through like a whirlwind. Whisper me some tune, O, Fiddle, for her heart's ease. So begin it: "Hast ever seen a wild rose of a Summer Flush at a storm that blows her hair about her ? O, truly, sky, though such wrath doth become her. Truth within her is more than storm without her." Come, gentle Spirit of the mighty wild-wood, Come, blow the angry storm of her eyes afar; Make my sky trusted as the blue of childhood. Serious-eyed — lit with a laughing star. A Change 155 A CHANGE. Out of a Sea of Faces I've picked my one pure pearl, Whose heart's as true as the sea's deep places Where's no whip or whirl. In her face a sky that traces That of Heaven for all men's graces. Mark 4he change, when all the phases Shine in one pure pearl ; My Sea, my Earth, my Sky run races Deep in the eyes of one girl. 156 A Country Store Window. WORLD SORROW. What's World Sorrow? Underneath White snow-green Summer stores a-thriving. Though she hankers after death Knows warm Life's still worth the living. What's World Sorrow ? Cheek by cheek Summer stream, 'neath frozen Winter. If only now the ice would break I'd show you quickly, for love's sake, That stream with Sun poured in to tint her. Once lived Life would be no more worth, Were it only worth the living; Just for sake of Summer birth Through long Winters men keep striving. Oh! A will to break and a Love to thaw, Else Life's worth living — and no more. Major and Minor. 157 MAJOR AND MINOR. Is it more natural for a man to smile Than dip himself in morbid melancholy? I think the Soul, remaining without guile, Sings naked Major songs right through man's folly. Once Nature was in Major time and tune Till Satan, singing flat, first taught her minor ; So men sing flat and sharp — too late, too soon. And only the shudder at discord tests man's ear the finer. A minor mode doth drape my Soul in cobwebs; Come, major breeze, and brush 'em all away. Thus am I played upon by other's natures Which change, being played upon, from grave to gay. No one Soul faith-fixed, major mode or minor, But all the world flies fugues from God's Sound, prime In Nature. Every man's his brother singer But the best singer — out of tune and time. 158 A Country Store Window. «DE TE FABULA*'— TAMMANY. Cetawayo's sceptred with a cane And crowned with a silk hat; He thinks himself a gentleman, But is he— for all that? Art. 159 ART. Is Art, think you, a wanton breeze To tickle with finger tip Beneath a nervous pleasure sail To make her rise and dip? Is she Aurora at the close Of some dark night in June, To touch the bosom of a rose And make it live till noon? Is she Aurora tripping it Down some white cloudy summit, Dipping her fingers dewy wet Into a rose to bloom it? Ay, is she this ! But more than this, A master-spirit moulder ; To make dust-Souls climb for a kiss And, kissing, make them bolder. 160 A Country Store Window. THE LOST ART. Whatever pleasure I have had to give By touch of skill on bow and fiddle strings Hath vanished, for like water through a sieve, Skill's slipped my touch; there's not one tone that clings. And so what pleasure I have ever lent Through touch of heart on bow and fiddle strings Seeks cover — though like a wounded bird still sings Deep down in the bosom of my instrument. The Eternal Battle. 161 THE ETERNAL BATTLE As though a gust of wind should sudden rise And strike out even courage from the dark. Oh! that 'twere possible for human eyes By searching sorrow to light upon its living spark ! Oh ! that 'twere possible one blow could crush All Devils — to rise not where once they fell ; With one grand swoop to raise a holy hush A-trembling in the Soul cracked v«rith the cries of hell. Get thee behind me, Satan ; get thee down Under my feet, as Michael had thee first ; Ev'n then, ah ! thou could'st whine back to thine own, Uprise again in fear to smite where'er thou durst. 162 A Country Store Window. MY MISTRESS ART. Let fools be reckoned wise ; let wise men be their fools ; Still am I reckoned nothing. God be praised, For 'scaping thus the measure of men's rules ! At the dear feet of Art I sit; when she hath raised My Soul on knees, alone she smiles; when art love cools My mistress Art and I alone will stand amazed. An Allegory. 163 AN ALLEGORY. Dedicated with eleemosynary reverence to Dr, Pontifex Maximus and Sir Arbiter Ele- gantiarium, of the Unabridged Lexicographic Lyceum of Poetic Culture. Said the Schoolmaster, scowling on the verse : "Han, you fool, think you have hit the Truth? They're pleasing lines and clever; but they're worse Than useless, worse than noxious, for, in sooth. "Poverty's no 'shame,' save as misfortune That brings thee nearer to that naked state Of body and Soul that shrinks from test of Sun- light, Hides in dark places, rotting, full of hate. 164 A Country Store Window. "Write no more verse ; think not to hit the Truth At random. Here's a story that will cure you :" Whereat one whispered 'Tedant !" Shame, poor youth, . For patience is no pedant, I assure you. 'There is a Wood, mysterious, situate Where heaven may be, where hell is, almost certain ; At any rate, I mean the Earth incarnate Where flesh and world, both good and bad, are caught in; "Whether 'tis heaven or hell or both or neither. Well, in this Wood was not a single tree Bore bud or leaf or any kind of weather; Nor bud, nor bough nor leaf could you, Sir, see; "And those who lived there, rainy days and sunny, They could not even see a single trunk (Nor double either — lest you should be funny And think I mean to say that they were — drunk ; An Allegory. 165 ''Unless it were with beer of native brewing, The vanity of fools that would be wise). No, they were poets, poetry eschewing — More, they were blind, because they had no eyes; 'Though I assure you, Han, it is a pity. For they will follow all the powers that be, A hundred things at once. Oh ! they turn giddy. Seesawing after what they think they see, "Their eyes turned inward gazing on the worms Of rhyme and metre that eat up their brains ; Smiling and throwing kisses at mere forms. And making March a Sunny Month (it rains 'Tn March; March always holds to his gray colors) — No matter, though 'tis false, 'tis no disgrace ! What harm, if on this side they try to gull us, While they go jigging in vain ecstatic grace ? ! ! "And now you have the main points of my story ; A Wood whose trees are leafless, boughless, budless — Just here, I warn you, there's an Allegory; For though the trees seem dead they are not bloodless. 166 A Country Store Window. ''These woods, you know, are full of men of knowledge, Blind, like Homer (but not of Homer's kind) ; In digging trifles busy as a College, Seeing but what they choose to call their 'mind.' **Above their heads hold fancy bows and arrows Shooting North, East, South, West, but not one glance, Not hitting even a flock of deceased sparrows, Much less the trees they hope to hit by chance. "Now where these arrows fly's a problem which Political Economy hath blasted" — (To interrupt just here how Han did itch, For 'arrows flies'— bad grammar; but de- sisted) — "Literally damned, nor feather stitch Nor distich of them can be found, just wasted." "I think you asked me, did you not, what good Lies in a tree that they should all so go on; One arrow hitting it will make it bud Like Magic ; two will make it leaf and so on.'* An Allegory. 167 Oh! the World Is replete With their kind. With their feet They make noise In the poise Of retreat From the Wind, From the Heat, From the Snows. They are those Who pretend To be much; God defend Us from such, For their end Is the same As the place Whence they came. Back to race, Their own kind, Into space They are whirled By the rush Of the wind. By the blush Of the rose, By the hush Of the snows. 168 A Country Store Window. *'Blow, ye dull Winds, hushed in the Solemn Wood; Sound through the horn of Plenty, as ye can, Sound one, long, true note that should make it bud. This barren horn ; hail ye the coming man **Who bendeth 'neath the boughs that spread above him At the true touch of Love ; a tangled luxury Of boughs, of buds, of flowers — all things that love him; Great brown, brawny boughs that hide their strength Beneath the flourish Of little green leaves a-bustle with victory, Drunk with the incense of love-laden flowers Which, too, nourish With full white breasts the sucking bees ; Vines and fruit trees By the Sun and sweet showers Nourished; all these Pressing from far and near, Pouring into his ear With myriad tongue the hum of Victory." An Allegory. 169 It grew dusk and so still You could hear the snow drift Round the window sill, And the shrill wind lift With the silence of theft The school-door latch. You could hear a slate scratch Near the desk of the sloth With his mouth full of citron. One eye in a patch Of dirty white cloth. It was dark in the hall; You could hear a foot-fall And the scrape of a match On the whitewashed wall By the maid, not the matron. "Indeed, Sir; why are you so angry, for I did my best ; I wish I could do more." Then answered the Schoolmaster kindly: "Han, If you grow up to be an honest man, You'll be a great one." 170 A Country Store Window. INNOCENCE. Like butterflies a-lighting, Her white wings kiss and part For fear a bee is there beating To sting her to the heart. Like two blue stars a-glowing As dark night closes in Her bright eyes shine, a-growing At the sight of sin. Like two red streaks o' dawn As white day advanceth, Her lips in wonder burn Apart and show her teeth. Oh ! feels that not like scorn That mounteth in her breath? Like Venus' Doves a-fluttering Her clasped hands kiss and part. Beneath, hear'st thou a muttering Like the beating of a heart? Song. 171 SONG. O, Light o' Love, 'tis you, 'tis you Are Light o' Life ; what merely flesh At seeing Sorrow dare look through Ahd die not at the wish ? O, Light o' Love, what earth can die While thou art in the eyes ? Tremble he may and faint and sigh, But Spirit never dies. O, Love-Light, Spark struck Soul from Soul Drift heavenward, be still and shine Fixed there, the Star that doth control Her life as it doth mine. 172 A Country Store Window, THE FAR-AWAYS. O, FOR the far-away, the country; O, for the free air from the seas, Cloud-stirred to a ripple along the green shore With the warm sunlight in the breeze. Rustling down into the green grass, Turning each blade from light to shade. With the flash of a little, dimpled low laugh Sparkling on from blade to blade. O, for the ever faithful. Freedom ; O, for the strong breeze from the sea ; And, O, for the all-sufficient "FORTUNE" Floating in for you and me. France. 173 FRANCE. September p, i8pp. I SING of men who scarcely yet are men, Traitors in arms who scratch the Mother's breast ; The kind men should have drowned forever when First they were littered — drowned in sober jest. Ev'n though one bad knows Goodness to be blest Still doth he turn her bust behind the shelf ; He shrinks from the honest torture of her test, Fearing lest he should find — one "nobler" than himself. He will admit no Virtue as his guest While Justice searches from that gazing bust ; Refusing Mirth better than his best He makes himself the Judge of all that's just. 174 A Country Store Window. France, thou hast compassed two great crimes of daring, Bound Justice — found Truth guilty of a lie ; Thy naked Soul, while all the v/orld stand star- ing, Supposeth herself clothed in Majesty ! Once to bind Truth were crime enough, God knows ; But twice? To convict themselves of things ill-famed Most barren, for thence no Repentance grows — Salt sown o'er rains of a Temple shamed. France, France, thou sleep'st! Is all the world a fool That says thou sleepest in Fool's Paradise? Awake, beat off the Dogs that rend thy Rule Into their self-indulgent Sacrifice. Jonaust, Mercier, of the General Staff, Immortal Names — to be forever cursed! By-words for a People when they laugh; Anathemas for Mobs when they would do their worst. France. ^ 175 Masters, you have performed your "Duty" well — No other where could you have done it so; Law-breakers and Road-makers to all Hell O'er France now quivering 'neath your coward blow. Crime black enough, that, after it, so still Life seems suspended for the Crack of Heaven, Fearing to breathe — lest God look down and kill Ere man finds breath enough to pray to be for- given. What is a nation without honor? — None; For who salutes that flag, torn not in strife But mangled. Dervish like, for its own fun. Cursing, praying — ^taking its own life. A sight too hideous for heart to see And not weep blood ! Once France was that broad field Where Power and Honor met in Majesty Beneath the unfolding Lilies of her Shield. But onward the Nations move with solemn tread Towards an Ideal they know not, only feel ; They pause to bury France, for she is dead. They pass on — crush the new grave under heeL 176 A Country Store Window. Pitied — the foolish boast of Leadership; Forgiven — for the weakness of her will ; P'orgotten — the proud curling of her lip ; Remembered — the Promise she could not ful- fill. Oh! Where could such a Mother, racked by storms, Those true-hearts that are hers find grace to nurture ; Or else — whence came these microscopic worms Set in some minds to putrify their nature ! Gamblers for Power and any sort of Fame, Draw in your luck — youVe lost the Larger Chance ; Go wallow in the ''Glory" of your game, Dice-throwers in the piteous face of France ! Despair above Confusion — the cleft tongues Of Every Passion — Serpents torn asunder Flames writhing out of Babel's topmost rungs Stretching their necks to hiss at Heaven's thunder Or kiss his lightning ; lo, the Thing you fear ! The ruin of a Hope that might have stood Had not your stiff-necks thought alone to clear The chaos lying between you and God. France. 177 O, wizened children of Incompetence, Why hang upon the curdled breasts of Chance To shrivel like your foster-mother! Hence Deceive yourselves with poisoned sustenance No more, but rather wean yourselves and grow Strong by the sweet sweat of a manly brow. Bear with the sermons of the World ; they preach That Patience ever yet by Hope grew strong. Alas, for France, who hath no time to reach A Goal ere Hope and Patience limp along. And is there nothing left to do for France Now that, in vain, the last zuord has been said ? No more Laboris, Picards there, perchance? Such men could raise her, even from the dead. If there are laws that do condemn the Just, Such are the laws to set the Devil free That he may pardon Honor, for Craft must Seem honest and convince his enemy. Yes, Craft, to kiss his foe, must seem to be In all parts like his enemy — but Truth, She cannot stoop to kiss the enemy, For whom her lips caress they kiss in very sooth. 178 A Country Store Window. All Nations, brooding o'er the French eye-beam, Raise one long note of horror at the News ! As one would wake to find Truth all a Dream And the whole plan of Heaven, Hell's most subtle ruse. The first Act — Tragedy; and then a rain Of self-applause that dimmed the Stars at first. But Justice called for that first Act again, So the second was the lining through the same cloud burst. How thinketh France to cut the Gordian knot? In Farce alone is there conceit so quaint ! For, loving the sly Sinner of the plot, She scalds his tender conscience by ''pardon- ing" the Saint ! Justice Retributive on him will fall Who hopes to steer a planet from her course: Behold Truth (this most tragical of all !) Insulted with a "Pardon" — this last Act a Farce. The curtain falls to merry drum and fife, No shadow of Host to reckon with ; jio Host In Farce — but there is Justice in real life That overshadows crime and haunts it like a ghost. France. 179 Thence grow the facts all good men love to see : No shame to haunt his freedom, doubly sweet, The Just Man, persecuted, now set free. Returns to his heart's home and fills the empty- seat. Contempt is all the care the Nations give Wherever the French Lilies are unfurled ; Out of their native soil they cannot live. While he who droops in France is honored by the world. 180 A Country Store Window. A FAIR EXCHANGE. What o' the World, Love^ If it be full of sorrow? The World's pain and our pain move As yesterday from to-morrow. Tell me (how doubt grows!) That your pain is as my pain, (Close, dear, I'll hug you close) So mine to joy will ripen. Bury our pains where They'll flourish ; mine in your heart And in mine, yours; we'll bear No pain, but joy — for my part; But what o' yourself, else ? I'm back in the World again, — If you say that I say false, — The World and the World's pain. A Keynote. 181 A KEYNOTE. Heart-bursting thoughts that labor And die for the wings of the word, Lie buried, then, close at the heart roots.. Will you rise? From the heart Of one whose Art Sings her to hear those songs that are not heard. 182 A Country Store Window, MADAM, Madam^ think you to touch my heart And see it fall open, burst Like a plump bud? Pray, learn your part Better and do your worst. Over my heart I raise my hand — It is a sacred thing, Once did she condescend to stand Here, in my heart. Take wing, Madam ; no sentimental grace This attitude. My heart She made the stronghold of one face Go elsewhere with your art. Leave me my treasure. What, you laugh? Why, so do I. You shell With wondrous ease wheat from the chaff, Madam, bid you farwell. Mary. 183 MARY. Mary, to thy glorious eyes My heart leaps out through mine; But there it falls, alas, and lies Unclaimed — though it is thine. Nor do I wish you to discover How it aches with pride And pity it; but, as a lover Leaps to suicide So leaps my whole soul out to thee. Dear girl; nor have I lost My life if you in death, Mary, Can say "I love thee most." 184 A Country Store Window. ALONG WITH ^'LANDOR'S POEMS/^ Old Pindar sang into our ears That myth of Arethusa Until (between real hopes and fears) All men began t' abuse her. Alpheus gazed up through the stream And saw a sea-nymph bathing there. She fled. He leaped out of the dream And followed. But she prayed a prayer To Dian and forthwith became A fountain quicker than the river Alpheus. Arethuse her name — She kept her name, but not forever Once, I looked through my heart and saw Some one therein who could not see me Till I leaped out upon the shore, Ashamed to sit so, still and dreamy. Along with "Lander's Poems." 185 Though Gods may offer Arethuse Their lives, yet they themselves may hinder. Not Brooks (because you will refuse). Give I — but Books that out-sing Pindar. 186 A Country Store Window. WRITTEN IN THE SAME. Oh ! how hard it is to tell The Spirit from the letter. A verse or two is very well, But (think you?) none were better. O, just one more before he claims, This Landor, his best reader. A schoolboy, clumsy at his games. Is doubly so a pleader. But, to say truth, I do not give To show my thought of thee; To remind you, only, that I live — To make you think of me. Let not this *'Landor" lead thee on So to forget the giver — First, foolish boy, Get her to say With scornful joy And pout — eye play; "As though the shadozv of the swan Could lead it from the river." The Outcast. 187 THE OUTCAST. My playmate Earth shrinks from me while The years glide by since I was small; Then was I nearer Nature's smile Now am I tall as man and high enough to fall Not even lightly, but with vengeance hurled. Though Earth is far, yet neither star Nor sky come nearer me. But show themselves like what they are, Those other worlds away, not what they used to be Near lights of heaven that crown the under world. 188 A Country Store Window. SONG. Oh ! to guess moods, whence they come, While others see things as they seem ; To know the true meaning of much — but of soul To know the true meaning of much — but of some For the sake of the wake from the dream — To fxnd it true. Oh! to be loved as I love, By one whom I love ; anyone, No matter who if she only prove In her own sweet way my kind of love With the whole of it known — to none — Save me and you. The Bather. 189 THE BATHER. She is about twenty, or less, as I guessed By the white shape of the nape of her neck, When she tumbled her hair in a curly brown crest And shook it out over her eyes and her cheek. There it waved like a shadow deep in a clear pool Just stirred by the breath of the moon, and her cheek Shone through like a pebble, smooth, pure, white and cool. As she looked up and smiled and then threw her hair back. Yes, she smiled as I saw her, yet straight as a Sun-flash Stood she and trembled; had spoken, but vainly. Doubting my love for her. Oh ! the undone sash Of blue at her waist; her eyes spoke her too plainly. 190 A Country Store Window. HER ANSWER. His love was full ; ay, over the brim. She spoke a name ; his lips closed o'er The whispered oath. *'I hate him more Than I love you." Ah! did she hear? (Pause.) "And shall I tell you why?" sighs she. (Pause.) "Divided is your love for me; One half is love of self, I fear, ' But all your hate is hate of him." Reciprocal— A Sketch. 191 RECIPROCAL— A SKETCH* Sniff the brand new cold o' coming winter ; See a warm, rich room of lazy wealth ; A bachelor apartment and a dinner Spread for ''boon friends," poor, idle, gay, in splendid health. There they sit, a company of six. Not one of whom can call his host a friend. Chop licking fire crackles up the bricks But cold are the hearths at home of those who help him spend. They plucked the absent, left not one bright feather, Until the wine grew hot within their eyes And kindled words. This was the host's warm weather Where basked his melancholy: "Yes, they are all lies. 192 A Country Store Window. "But talk on; 'tis amusing." Pushed the wine Toward a big, unbottled, boisterous bird ; 'You drink too much; 'tis no affair of mine. Come, let us drink and wink to — you know ; mumm's the word." The purple veins o' Winter Expand and burst their flood Into the warm, wide veins of Summer And turn to young, red blood. She stood upon the garden bench in the morn- ing, Picking cherries from a gummy tree That bore them richly. That was early mormng ; Fruit of Earth just touched by Sun and Bird and Bee. The caterpillar cooled his furry coat Upon a round, red apple, unmolested. A butterfly sailed in his lordly boat The air, while jealous whirr from cherry tree protested. Reciprocal — A Sketch. 193 And there were two large cherries with joined stems ; Each had a deep white scratch upon his cheek. "Alas !" cried she, with petulance, ''these gems 1 But, then, they must be sweet to tempt so black a beak." "This thin red one is Jack ; the scratch half healed Already. This too rich one, this is Fred. They've gone to help each other in the field. I'll make Fred eat the light, and Jack the dark rich red." "I said — well, no, I didn't say, 'don't fete Your moods; be men, go work,' as mistress sends Slaves to the field ; but one can intimate. I made them work, and work has made them bosom friends." 194 A Country Store XX'^indow. SONG. Oh ! horror to look back and see The day just dead, lie yet so near; That last year's youth has gone from me And I grow older by a year. Oh ! not much longer will it taKe To teach me all a man should know Who peers back into youth; to make Youth seem a thousand years ago. Paderewski. 195 PADEREWSKI. O, Mind, kept full of careful thought, Like fruit ripe on the trees, Ready at sunset to be caught Or fall with perfect ease, If thou cculd'st fill me, hushed would be Art motive ; Nor should I stir within myself at times ; Nor would a hungry Soul then feed itself With unripe tones and overripened rhymes. Like a melting mountain 'Neath a Sunset touch Come thy notes; a fountain Where there was none such. If thou could'st run in me forever I could resign m.y will, (Washed free of self-enshrined endeavor) For Art's sake and be still. 196 A Country Store Window. Down comes a storm cloud Through vale from high hill With a strong, sweeping victory, While the wind whistles shrill. Could'st thou brew such a storm In every stormy mood. Would men taste the cold worm Turned out of Earth, for food? The sky pales, A gold thread Of Sun sails Overhead. A cloud drifts From the west; The Sun lifts His gold crest. Then is it a Star, Cloud cleared by the Wind? What? One must sail far, Far away with his mind. Virginia. 197 VIRGINIA. I. O, RICH Wind of October, What a pure draught ye outpour ! What lover can be sober Who comes up from yon shore While the gala leaves go whirling 'round his feet? October, oh ! October, How ye set my heart ablaze ! What lover can be sober And not shout his mistress' praise As thy color mantleth higher in him and the cheek that he would greet? Oh ! that my song could honor That Autumn face of thine, And kiss the curl kissed color And eyes that softly shine. 198 A Country Store Window. Oh ! that I might but tell ye In honest verse my love; How thy beauty doth compel me To seek the things above. For beauty such as thine is, Of all the kinds on Earth, The type of that divineness Whence cometh holy mirth. But be ye now, dear Virgin, My missal for a while And illuminate the margin With thy rich October smile. With a little sigh behind it. The sv/irl of a leaf from a tree For so I should not mind it, Were all that si eh for me. For I love thee, oh! I love thee And the long hall (now forsaken) ; Every room at old Glen — boskie That your sunshine will awaken; Every window you have looked through — every path that you have taken. Virginia. 199 II. What more than thought can words express; What thought can set me free From the dear magic of th3^self And make thee less than "thee" ! No, no ; my rhyme cannot break through The web you weave around yourself; Nor do I wish it ; nor can you, If thou art true unto thyself. Thus am I yours till you are bound To be another — yourself lost; So long as 'twill not heal the wound Rhyme is the salve that serves me most. III. What, canst thou make me jealous with a Name? When thou'lt not let me see the water stains That climb into thine eyes and show the stream How it hath swollen with the recent rains? Oh ! I have said it ; one deceitful doubt Hath stabbed pure trust and the green eye creeps out. 200 A Country Store Window. Oh ! heaven, thy nectar hath one drop too much ; The poison of a fiery tear from hell. I love thee, but I would this little touch Of hate could leaven all ; I love thee still. My faith, how maddening to know thou'rt pure, As I do love thee, yet to think — fool, fool, have done ! Oh! that thy word could fix my faith as sure As are the changing Stars to the unchanging Sun. IV. The Autumn leaves fall To the cold ground; With a sad sound Winds muse on the note That sounds sad as thy float. All the birds call, With a throb in the throat, The lost Summer. In tree and bush Chilled Nature turns flush, Sad and sweet. All in a low sigh She scatters the leaves And shivers as they lie Red and dead at her feet. Ah ! she grieves. Virginia. 201 And the great green-hearted leaves o'er- head Turn hectic red ; And the sharp sun shoots Down deep in the hole Where the sap is bled At the naked roots; And the broad shade is shed On the gray oak bole No more; Virginia's gone. The Autumn leaves fall On the damp ground; Departing birds call With a sad sound The lost Summer. All the winds hail, From the drearier points; Dear Nature, grown pale. With her grave eyes, anoints The new comer. At set of Sun O'er purple hill and bush And mellow meadow Warm Nature's dimpled blush Chilled Burns to a graver flush While stilled In shadow. 202 A Country Store Window. A cold wind o' winter cracks the ear. Winter's ready; Winter's here. Bush and hill And sky lie still In melancholy study. She is p-one. Possible to Know. 203 ALL THAT IT IS POSSIBLE TO KNOW. "What shall I read?" said the Pink to the Rose. "If I stare at the infinite sky ] see it, an infinite mystery, close To a mortal ; to-morrow I die. *'If I look at the earth, the brown mother of all, I read of her death — and my own. If I look at thy leaves, ere they blush, ere they fall Where the winds of mild Summer have blown." Said the Rose to the Pink : "Do you think you can learn Of the infinite sky ere you die? You are stronger than m^e, yet you die in your turn Ere you know aught of earth or of sky. "Let these be; look at me. If I perish too soon, At the least you have seen what you know." "Ay, more," said the Pink, as a wind cut him down, "I know that I'll see perfect love where I go; That thy beauty, unfinished love under the Sun, Must grow perfect somewhere; not below." 204 A Country Store Window. LINES ON A BOCK UNDERLINED I GAVE a girl a poetry book ; One she, I knov/, had wanted long, I gave it ; in return I took — An interest in Song. A year ago. But every line I once dared hint was too obscure, Lies buried now in note and sign. She loves someone, I'm sure. Two years ago! These lines I thought So weak have since been made secure By bars. Ah! Book, the meaning's caught; She loves — me ? Art thou sure ? Yes, Book with girlish underscore, You could not tell me half so much Had she not told thee all before By look, by tear, by touch. Song. 205 SONG. O, Night — and one clear Star Enough to make thee live? Are there such nights (men say there are) That have no Star to give? O, Heart — and one pure love Enough to make thee man? (For men will swear what they cannot prove, But what you swear, you can.) Move they like Death athwart the Light Or fly before the Storm? But there's not a cloud in all the night Some Star will not transform. Should a Star to-night discover The love that lies in you, Make me, O, Love, that lover To swear the Light all true. 206 A Country Store Window. TOUCHSTONE'S LENTEN POEM. The Body, 'tis I ; the Soul, 'tis She ; The Body is dead and the Soul is free ; And yet she was never bound to me In all the years that I lived for the Soul ; Only — / it was lived in the Soul's control. II. Rough weather's not half so unkind As this most gentle woman; Such storms leave not a sting behind, For such storms are not human. Love is a good thing and a great — For God's sake, go not near it, Ye who love and cannot hate ; O, Gift too good, too strong, too great For any man to bear it ! Touchstone's Lenten Poem. 207 Ah! then the question: "Who's to blame If Love have crushed your Spirit? For Love ne'er from the Devil came ; But God." Go near, then, in God's name, And who shall bid you fear it ! Ill Farewell, farewell and once again farewell, And this the last tim.e; for I shall not see thee Of mine own will 'till thou hast broken the spell That lies upon me — or / drink of Lethe. Alas, my heart, that I might pluck thee out. Thou cleansed bird and offer thee to God My purest sacrifice, my most devout, That sin might find atonement 'neath the sod. No more may I learn purity from thine eyes But from my Conscience where thine eyes are still. No more, no more ! and can I realize What "no more" means? No more to do thy will 208 A Country Store Window. While you look on and thank me with a smile. Oh ! now pray 1 with all my heart and mind That I forget thee not ; for all the while I see thy face that grew divinely kind At the last moment (Oh! the face so fair) With pity, methinks I feel a seer's spell That loving thee so madly must somewhere Be justified. Till then, dear girl, farewell. A Real Impromptu. 209 A REAL IMPROMPTU. How lovely are the days of Spring When life begins to blossom And every bird is on the wing And love in every bosom. Bow down to Spring, the new-born King Of youthful Love and Wisdom! When all the birds are on the wing And love is in the bosom. I love thee, O, thou lovliest thing That Spring could ever welcome When every bird is on the wing And love's in every bosom. A plain gold ring and a pearl-set ring And oh ! for the Spring to choose 'em. When all the birds are on the wing And love's in every bosom. 210 A Country Store Window. A STREET SELLER. O, World what would you do Were there no woman to move Your love to love? For it is true Women were born to love. A little large-eyed girl With things for sale that sell not Looks all day at the busy whirl With eyes that plead, but tell not. Poor little girl, you prove The woman in your eye ; And were you, too, child, born for love^ Who struggle first, then die? All the long, bleak day While men sit close together At home and warm their hands and say 'I've seen the fire, brother," A Street Seller. 211 You, child, stand still, alone Waiting your turn — to tire. Born for love ? You have neither known Nor looked for any fire. What can we do for such, Strong men who fear no fall ? Do what we can while we can touch The form. Can we do all ? 212 A Country Store Window. THE SOUL. O, Soul, what art thou, then, Found only in the flesh of Man ; Wherever heart and brain consent To live an ordered plan? O, Soul what art thou, then, Who saith : ''My only grave Is in the flesh of living man; That dead, I rise and live"? I am the whole life of man, (/go not 'neath the sod) ; Life made immortal by a brain That knows there is a God. Burdens. 213 BURDENS. "Old woman, I, too, had a burden ; Gone, I know not where; Or, if 'tis such a one as thine, 'Tis one I well can bear. "But still you have my sympathy," The old man said, and took The faggots off the old bent back As it slowly stooped and shook. "God bless ye, old man. After all My burden's not so great; Since you have helped me see its size You've taken half the weight." 214 A Country Store Window. A THEME WITH VARIATION. No. Wisdom will not find so great a wealth In all his searchings, as that he will come on, Homeward bound, in a true woman's heart — Pure, living gold, the love of a true woman. O, you who scorn in manly pride To grant a girl the noblest part, Remember this when you go hide Your beaten brain in some girl's heart, And find there Wisdom, proud and strong And simple as — the creed of Love. Then, trust me, you will not wait long Ere beaten brain begins to move. No. Searching Wisdom hath not found. Since that long day he did depart, A wealth like this when homeward bound, The living gold of a woman's heart. Hesitation. 215 HESITATION. O, Juliette, A look, a look into thine eyes Once more and I am lost therein, Careless of all my Soul's disguise Whether or not it be a sin ! And yet, and yet Thine eyes are lights— that lead to Paradise. Must I pass by as though mine eyes And thine were turned of sculptor's stone? Not thine ; this buzz of human flies Tells me that thou art not alone. Forget, forget, My Soul, grow deaf, grow blind, grow dumb— grow wise. 216 A Country Store Window. ST. PAUL. A MAN of massive mind; And with world-wisdom shod; Became serenely blind Before the eyes of God. He walks Earth undefiled, Sounds Earth with gnarled rod; Sees only the face of a little child, Trusts that and follows God. Music. 217 MUSIC. O, HEAVENLY Miise, pure Soul of Inspiration Draw nearer with the music of thy wings ; Descend and on the pinions of Creation Raise me to Worlds where every Soul that Sings May be a brother to those who sing of other things. Where is the land of Art? Thus would I enter, With the sound of rushing wings upon mine ear; Half God, half man for love's sake ; yet no cen- taur, But every Soul help every Soul's desire By being perfect each in his career. Come, Love, too all ; but, love comes stronger With whatever Art she brings. Love delayed, delay no longer ; Come — with Music in your Wings. 218 A Country Store Window. SONNET. Shroud me with half-forgetfulness, O, Night, Thou far-off echo of the josthng world, Thou mother of Dreams, twin sister of Day- light (Breeder of bold Realities that hurled Their rays so hotly at the harmless dreams So dear to the hearts of men) ; Night, veil my head With half-forgetfulness, that those hot beams Of Day when I remember them may shed A softer shower through my aching heart. Let me remember them but as the gold That gave a glory to her long, thick hair And added more to mine who was no part Of her, nor could be. Night, make me more bold To think I thought her beautiful — and not care. The First Act. 219 THE FIRST ACT. Oh ! I remember well My first play ; how I thought The curtain that first fell Had cut the play so short. How when a boy in teens I sulked; although I knew There were more acts behind the scenes, Impatient to look through. In truth, we but begin, When we think the play is o'er; Fate puts another finger in, And the wheel goes 'round once more. Love, what if we now part ! I know 'tis not the end. But, oh ! for a look behind the heart ; You, my love, and I — your friend. But — this is not the end. 220 A Country Store Window. POINTS OF VIEV. Rich or poor; which would you be, Rider or one who lags? But he who rides can never see The way the old world wags; Nor would he ride with so much pride Bones that can go no faster, Could he but see (has he ever tried?) The work-horse and the Master; Whether with tears or whether laughter, I know not which of the twain; But certain it is that somewhat softer Would he hold the rein. The Year and the Woman. 221 THE YEAR AND THE WOMAN. The Year is like a woman Growing, first to last : There's your April weather No man can forecast. Not until the Summer Is the season sure ; Love must overcome her Ere the maid's mature. Then the cold age cometh, Hardens the tilled ground; And who can guess what bloometh Till he tap and sound? But the last storm cometh And the night profound When the white wind boometh ; After that — no sound. 222 A Country Store Window. O, Paradise and Spring-time, What are you on Earth? A woman's voice at sing-time When she hath given birth. The Immortal Chord. 223 THE IMMORTAL CHORD. They had no coat of arms, no plate, No portraits on the wall ; They had no broad, green real estate, No name historical. They loved — but all they had to give Was what they had to save. They only labored but to live Until they reached the grave. Their weapon was a simple knife — No blade of subtletees That kills and makes death a still bit of Life To all — save him who dies. Not quite one hundred years have past And what they wrote and spoke. Into Time's pit of purging cast. Hath all gone up in smoke. 224 A Country Store Window. Still they were men, God knows, and fed The fire of Life-on-Earth ; They were alive — now they are dead We hold their gift of birth. Who can forget the men who go before! They live in us — in us have their new-birth ; For how can immortality be more Than this, the Immortality of simple men on Earth. Every note of Life contains a choice Of harmony or discord : Every tone Of Nature, every sound of human voice Soul's rendering of Gifts not all her own, That other Souls, receiving the Design May add a native note towards the Divine. That any man (so marvelous it is!) Should feel at times the Power to control The orchestra of other Souls like his ; So mighty is the Organ of the Soul — When the reverberation of her Prime Through centuries awakes in living words Harmonies that become, each in their Time, The Fundamental of all hum.an chords! The Performer. 225 THE PERFORMER. Two things which other artists dread You contemplate with scorn: The ChilHng Shadow of the Dead ; The Mock of the Unborn. You but compete with Kin and Kith, They with — who knows ? Perhaps a myth When all is done and said. Nothing can ripen your renown After the fruit has fallen ; What Time brings in is all your own, Nor borrowed, begged, nor stolen, All the seed which you have sown You shall reap and you alone. Each bay to which your fame has grown A man can mark; but is it known How other fames are swollen ? Canst thou draw sap from parent stem To make the whole growth richer? Is that fhy child, the Age to come? Alas, how can you teach her ? 226 A Country Store Window. All your art lies in the gem We see upon your diadem. You we commend, you we condemn; You are your art's best feature. The Poet. 227 THE POET. The Poet looks within him ; Takes knowledge of each force And bids them knit into a Power. Then he shapes his course. The Poet looks about him, Sees those whom he can teach; With a great arm sweep flings out his Power As far as he can reach. A few along with him And he casts his strength again; With a wider sweep draws in to him Twice as many men. The Poet looks above him, Points to a Light afar, Cries out to those who have learnt to love him, 'Tollow ! That's our Star." 228 A Country Store Window. THE PROPHET. God, Creator of the Universe, Once visited a creature with a curse. Since then have men been falling down from bad to worse. All men, heirs to this curse, have sunk below Their fathers. Since the fathers did not show How to fulfill God's will, how should the children know? God chooses, sometimes, from the maudlin crowd A will, a ray of light in a thunder cloud, Winding and finding its way to the Sun where it veins the shroud. Towards such a Will God throws a Light, I say, And swears that such a Will will He obey As oft as it hath chosen, humbly, God's own v/ay. The Prophet. 229 A child, thus, lying sick e'en at death's door Recovers life and lives it as before. No miracle is this; just Nature, nothing more. But, God, the child lying sick e'en unto death. Will not restore until the Prophet saith "Restore this child, O, God, and justify my faith." Here is a Miracle, you say ; I say Like Miracles are solving every day. Only — to mark them, Man, the Prophet, first must pray. Say, then, "There was no Power in rny prayer ; Only in Man can God to Man declare The Power that lies about us everywhere." 230 A Country Store Window. THE VALUE OF FAILURE. I SAW a flower die last night ; Its petals shut like arms in prayer At point of death, and the inner light Went out in breath somewhere. I knew it had a soul thereby (Call mine, if you will, a simple wit) Though the lack-lustre of mine eye Could not have fathomed it. Ah! then the grace of morning came And touched the petals wide apart In praise ; the flower was just the same— With a Soul deep in the heart. A friend of mine whose only child Died on his knees, cried *'God is dead ; The world hath failed."— Just then God smiled And drew out tears instead. The Value of Failure. 231 I made a verse ; it had no life, So once I thought, and let it be ; Until you came to be my wife And showed its Soul to me. So God hath taught us how to see The smallest part may be the whole; That faith, though failing, cannot be Unworthy of a Soul. But one more word and I have done : That Love perfects whatever fails, Just as your love, God's smile, the Sun, Makes live what it unveils. 232 A Country Store Window. O, TEMPORAj O, MORES. A Model Age ! I know a man (And so, I think, do you and you) Who seems unto these other two A moral, model citizen. Because his make is all self-make And better, therefore, than the work Of any God that chanced to lurk Within : a Soul for his Soul's sake ? Not altogether that, but half Because the ''Real Amphitryon Is he with whom we dine," and none Much cares to look outside of self. He hides his purse — but lets it fall. You see the silk ; without surprise You find it's sow; for otherwise He would not drop his purse at all. O, Tempora, O, Mores. 233 And so, he's honored to the grave. None lets himself believe the trick That made his neighbor's Soul go sick ; The dead man's Neighbor is the knave. 234 A Country Store Window. THE RISE OF THE SELF-MADE MAN. Self-making men, still struggling in the tide, Blind to the glitter of the fisher's net, Beneath the bubbles of the brain still glide; They have not risen to the surface yet. And yet, and yet, and yet ! How soon that tide Which seems to shoot them into Fortune's net, Shall cast them, gasping, on the shores of Pride, To win at last the little name of — *'J^t!" A. fossilized black fishbone, the rich gem That hangs on poor men's necks — and strangles them. Growing Horizons. 235 GROWING HORIZONS. A LITTLE girl in a garden With bovv^ered wall about Too tall for her to lean on Tiptoe to look out. And so the little garden To little girl remained A little while her Eden. Sun shone and rain rained Till she grew a little taller, Could peek beyond the wall. When garden world grew smaller And little girl grev/ tall. Now looks the married maiden The wide world over. Eyes Just not a little laden With the wet o' love-lit skies. 236 A Country Store Window. Child-life was the only Life my child allowed, Till she grew big and lonely And passed out in the crowd. The only life, this garden, The big world ever knew Till growing out of Arden, We take the all-round view. My College World. 237 MY COLLEGE WORLD. Like a Library whose books Are bound by the Librarian's looks For fear you steal a book away, So glut yourself with them to-day Because to-morrow you go home. Or like the world to which you come Without a stitch save human nature; No whit better than the creature Born ten thousand years ago. And out you go again — so-so. That is the college world I know^ A narrow self-sufficiency At back, in front, on either side. Out come the boys this world to see With a contentious kind of pride. But one step more — that is to die In hopeless mediocrity. 238 A Country Store Window. TRUTH. Idols out of self, Self-made, will stand on high Till self neglects to worship, When they wither like a lie. Who looks for the Truth within him (That which hath always been) Falls — if he cease to worship That Unknown, that Unseen. Marriage. 239 MARRIAGE OF THE PRESENT WITH THE FUTURE. The Present is as old as Earth, Yet ever young and strong; He married Future ; she gave birth To those twins — Right and Wrong. 240 A Country Store Window. THE INEVITABLE. The World, were all men born on Poverty Flats. Would still be ruled by aristocracy. But if all men were born aristocrats Where would that power born of struggle be? Beethoven. 241 BEETHOVEN. Immortal Brothers of my Mistress Art, There is more vigor in your lofty wings That in the Soul itself of one who sings To bear his song, rejoicing, to the Mart. Beethoven, Master of my Mistress Art, There is more Soul within thy soaring wing Than in the Souls of all thy Sons who sing And drag their songs down to the common Mart. 242 A Country Store Window. HIS SHADOW TO LOUIS XV. Drink and bebauch the flesh? That's no bad thing ; I, not my body, am the King. 'True, Sire; While thou hast life men know that thou art King." Be still; wouldst thou suggest — pray, no hell fire. If I should ask "What am I when Life's gone ? Just that ; when neither self nor form are power Life rallies the King-power ; Self and form in one Make Life; so, scatter these — the King's a flower. "O, King, spite of thyself art thou revered ! What more, then, art thou, when that self has fled? Look, now; behold, thy form that once was feared An empty bottle thrown aside — an uncorked shadow — dead." The Great Man. 243 THE GREAT MAN WHO IS ALWAYS WITH US* In Society, a truly great man passes unnoticed with the dignity of one who feels himself to be above them who think themselves above him. 'Tis true, though men have laughed me down, That sometimes men would rather walk Acioss the fields to Shanty-Town Than loll along the thoroughfare With a fat, indulgent air, To make the village shopmen talk. A true man passes through the crowd. Who turns to look at him ? Not I For one ; I knew him when I bowed ; He's nothing to the Passer-by. The good man toiling in the town Who spins his life from door to door In homely cloth, seeks no renown Save that which binds him to the poor. 244 A Country Store Window. TRAGI-COMEDY, Tragedy is Life, and Life is war, That ever-fruithful mother of all wars Into whose arms all naked Souls are thrown To fight for the milk of immortality. Under her own flesh-form of Comedy Beats the True Tragic Child towards Life im- mortal The Ideal Woman. 245 THE IDEAL WOMAN. O, PERFECT Flower among the flower beds, Rose are you rightly named, for from thorny cradle Into a Rose you grew — with a woman's heart thereto. O, Woman-flower among the flower beds Picking your rose-friends from their thorny cradles (Faint hearts that now first lift their hopeful heads) Give me a Rose-friend, too; yourself, your heart' s-self — Yoic. 246 A Country Store Window. A MARE'S NEST. "A Man is born but to fulfill God's Will ; therefore he must Do good and evil at God's Will. Yet you say God is just. My Son, the World can live in no man Till he first dwells in it. As a man may love an evil woman Whom he knows not fit ?" My Son, but few men can afford To love the dim, day-star; Few men, with faith in that reward Do good; half-Gods men are. ''Then, Sir, for what will men repent. Who have, you say, no faith?" Man's half-God must be made content, His Self, the old man saith. Therefore they can be perfect yet Who let not their world's breath Blur their own face till they forget And bear down all to death. Music. 247 MUSIC In my Soul stirs the tongue of the Angel of Death. Alas, for its smothered wit, When the dumb Spirit gasps for breath Freely to utter it! No. Shall a Spirit deliver the mind Of God in a many-tongued noise? Music — that mystery in the wind, Is Spirit, and Spirit's voice. 248 A Country Store Window. GOD'S LOVE. Man's love is a Cataract, And woman's love, the sea; But God's Love is the Mighty Fact That moves both you and me. The Wonder-Workers. 249 THE WONDER-WORKERS. Lo, a little wonder Star Hath dropped a tear upon the ground; Where the wonder-workers are Many tears are to be found. Lo, the little wonder Star Draws a tear out of the ground ; Where no wonder-workers are There no human tears are found. 250 A Country Store Window. OUTLINE FOR A TRAGEDY. John was older than his blind brother; The head of his father's house ; Married one woman — but loved another, The sister of his spouse. Married the rich, but loved the fair Whose fortune was — her face, Whose father had said, *'Her sister's care Shall keep her from disgrace. "And she shall wed whom she prefers; Is he poor (though work he must). Half her sister's wealth is hers" — As justice it was just. But, jealous wife, was your husband sold? (You say your husband "Kissed her"!) You knew he married you for your gold And — for your lovely sister? Outline for a Tragedy. 251 And so you hate that sister. Why? She hates your John ; his scorn Of his bhnd brother makes her cry For pity — love is born. They were betrothed; half your estate Then turned towards them. Ah! now One sees the reason of your hate, The Crime upon your brow. "John — (is Evil in the blood Or money, then, so great?) John, make him think she is not good — And they will separate." Cries John : **The irony of Fate !" — ("My sister's shame?" thinks she?) "Oh! that the glory of man's sight should mate With one who cannot see!" "Hist, brother mine! that you could see Your bride is — beautiful." "Well, brother, what is that to me ? Is she not dutiful ?" Then, half-determined, half in fear Of a sleeping self-surprise, John drops into his brother's ear That poison of a subtle tear, 252 A Country Store Window. Half-sympathy, that lies So near, alas, so very near The "Sesame" of eyes ; "An ugly woman's not exempt From that which tempts them all. Think how much more will the Devil tempt A pretty one — to fall." Oh ! Love, blind Love that only sees The pure, unspotted Soul ! Others but see the part they please. You see the perfect whole. Oh! Night, what things do you reveal! Were the blind man better dead? But — the blind eyes flashed upon her steel, "He sees me!" and she fled. Oh ! Day, what things do you conceal By making them too plain ? How can so soft a voice reveal That woman's hate again? The blind boy towards the river's brim Walks — as in a dream ; With subtle voice she calls to hiir» Gently across the stream : Outline for a Tragedy. 253 ^'Dear lad, are you dreaming that your wife Is not what she would seem?" — The vision of that flashing knife Conjured in his eyes' gleam, As he lifts his head. But one step more To a grave he knows not of — John's oath — and a cry and a splash from the other shore, But here — the Arm of Love. Yes, John has thrust his wife to hell. By this he came to loathe her. The sudden shattering of her Spell In pity for his brother. This moment's act of love and hate Hath drawn him near, too near The black fulfillment of a Fate Which he begins to fear. Between him and his treasured hell Lives only the blind boy — God strike him ere his mind can dwell On what he would destroy. 254 A Country Store Window. THE LONG JOURNEY. To leave the world behind ! The world which I have loved Because the only world my mind Can swear to, having proved. I am Here — but I go ; and the men That have made my vast world, stay. And I never shall see their faces again. Till the world has passed away; Till the many men that are And the Millions more on their way Have passed beyond this Star And left it to decay. Out into darkest Space, With not a look behind — Though never more to see a face To hear naup'ht but the Wind ! The Song Journey. 255 I flutter like a feather Because the Preacher saith: "The wings that brought thee hither Must carry thee through Death." I do exceeding fear Although my Spirit saith: "The wings that brought thee here Will carry thee through Death." 256 A Country Store Window. A VACATION LETTER. Since Byron lacked the skill to finish Juan I thought Vd add a verse or two for him And save that masterpiece from utter ruin, Th' approval of all Critics "in the swim" Who love a thing the less the nearer finished For thus their chance of guessing right's dimin- ished. But why should I particularly choose To write to you in this Juanic stanza? The answer simply is the most abtruse You'll find in logic — for there is no answer; That is, if one could always find a reason There'd be no reason thus to do at any season. Oh! shall I tell in raptures of the Journey (Where sit the green-hills decked with little towns) Much like the Diary of Frances Burney, Who tells us how she kept the Royal Gowns Of Thing-um-bob, the wife of George the Third? I haven't read th' book ; it's what I've heard. A Vacation Letter. 257 I'm sorry I began to write in verse; As to Macbeth sev'n Royal Ghosts uprose, One rhyme invokes another even worse And leads the understanding by the nose. Oh! Rhyme, how have ye molly-coddled Youth And lead him into telling an Untruth ! Shall I describe our journey, how it slips By Cornwall where the waters, sly, caressing With ever seeming timid linger tips. Touch the shore with a deceitful blessing ? Plunge inland, headlong through the hills and leave That ever-ready river to deceive. The Panoramic view is very fine ; This house sufficiently attractive, too. With Summer friends (including a Divine). I think we'll stay, and live upon the view ; The food and beds have, although bone and stone, A certain kind of grace, too, of their own. Oh! Idleness, how justly art thou cursed Who can so swiftly drive one to the worst! Myself, my Summer Friends with the Divine — (I know 'tis rude to mention myself first, But, then, I must and keep the rhyme in line) I say, since gay Terpsichore's tiptoed hence We're driven to cards and such-like impotence. 258 A Country Store Window. This house's keeper drives it in a groove Behind a larger house kept by his brother; !No dancing; not because he doesn't approve But so as not to be behind another; For to join a donkey race, of course, You've got to ride a donkey, not a horse Or be yourself the donkey, which is worse. There is a place not far from here, "Sam's Point," Where idle Pilgrims in the blazing Sun Convey their lemonade and a cold joint And sacrifice them to the God of Fun. Yon band goes hence, to come back starving, p'raps, For, though their Staff is bread, their Scrip is scraps. The wind sighs o'er this Single Mountain top Like a lone Spirit doomed to find no rest But sighing, at last dying seems to drop Dead into the valley of the Blest, (That's Ellenville for those who don't live there; Yet those who do speak so-so of the fare.) There is a seat upon this mountain side Where, sitting, one may see across the vale The distant habitations far and wide Where ev'ry cottage whitens like a sail (To catch the breezes of approaching night) — One moment poised — and they are out of sight. A Vacation Letter. 259 Then like a charm upon the jangled ear Steals Silence from the valley to the heights And one by one the valley lights appear, The mountain fires and the moving lights. But, oh! but, oh! that musical soft sally, The silver song that rises from the valley. We had a good address from young Alexis (The Rev.) last Sunday, with repeated calls. If I remember right I think he takes his Text from that Epistle of St. Paul's, Where he draws the difference between A Hope that is and Hope that is not seen. From ten to one we take a morning drive. The day is not too hot, nor yet too cloudy. Beside the team and driver, we are five. Though the Divine is just a little rowdy. Soon we shall go where golf on fashion fawns; That is, we'll lounge about the spacious lawns, Indulge in tepid smiles and tea and yawns. Whether I continue in this strain (For strain it is!) depends upon the weather; My Muse is like a cat and hates the rain. Likewise the Sun, and Sun and Rain together. But there — it rains. So endeth my epistle And if you look for News — you'll have to whistle. 260 A Country Store Window. WOMAN. Our Life is all true means unto an End, And woman Youth's most heavenly means and human ; There's one we must, alas, excuse, O, Friend — That man lives long enough to lose that youth- ful love of woman. O, woman, undoer of man. Made to be man's inspiration Put your lips to the cup in your hand Ere you drink of the Cup of Damnation ; Of the wine of the river that ran (Where the ruins of Babylon stand) Rapidly through the whole Nation. O, woman, undoer of Souls, Meant to be Soul's inspiration, First drink of your holier bowls Ere you drink yours and man's damnation. Song. 261 SONG. Oh, oh, but digging days were dull Amid the showers of wet leaves All alone ! But now the golden grain is full Your face shines laughing through the sheaves You, my own. 262 A Country Store Window. TRANSLATION. Lourdes, ah, I'Espoire, etaient ces Jours Accablees sous les feuilles mortes, Funebres Fleures! I/Espoir, plein tou jours de 1' Amour, N'y voir-je pas ces Jours la sortant, Comme Moissonneur? The Immortal Dynasty. 263 THE IMMORTAL DYNASTY. If you want to be happy, be good ; If you want to be good — ^be a fool; Such was the wisdom of Budh And Budh has founded a School, And out though the gates of his solitude Pours Universal Rule. Budh's Dynasty still reigns, Nirvanah's happy race, Who take such clumsy pains, To fill the world with Grace, Swayed by the might of the sluggish brains From the Throne of the Commonplace. And well that it is so ; For fools are wise men, dumb, Who know well what they know And look for the World to come; Who count this world but a puppet show And ever babbling drum. 264 A Country Store Window. If some of them hypocrites be Too happy and good to be true, They conceal it from you and from me, So it's nothing to me or to you. The color of earth is the color we see From our limited point of view. Studies in Light and Shade. 265 STUDIES EST LIGHT AND SHADE. I. Ah, Miriam, without chaffing, It is a grave mistake My looking on and laughing At ev'ry move I make. Brave Time came one bright season And strung me to the fight ; Still, like a spoiled rain, reason Kept drizzling half the night. I leaped to my long-bow, naming My one short prayer, my prize ; Trembling and aiming By the starlight of your eyes. Were I as swiftly speeding As arrow to its mark Would your heart be there bleeding Hit— hit in the dark? 266 A Country Store Window. II. In the morning the shadows of darkness Fly away to I know not where, But in their room cursed loneHness Leans o'er the back of my chair, Murmuring "Miriam" ever and mocks The murdered silence there, Making the memory of thy Name A madman's shadowy care. III. Ah, Miriam, without chaffing It is a grave mistake My looking and laughing At ev'ry move I make. Blind Night came one wise season And launched me out to sea While, like a spoiled rain, reason Drizzled constantly. But I came to my New World, nearing Not as the eagle flies, But trembling and steering By the North Star of your eyes. Studies in Light and Shade. 267 IV. True love is like the air that sings — O, armour-bearer regal Bearing up the battered wings About the warring eagle! My soul is, like the eagle's wing, Invisibly supported Over ev'ry evil thing This vain world ever courted. From heaven, like a miracle The Power of Light descended Over the storm and touched to Form That which kept me suspended. Fly, Spirit with the golden wing, Flash, fly into my heart, And, if I know whereof I sing, You never shall depart. V. In the morning the shadows of darkness Fly away to I know not where But now in their place there's a Miriam Leans o'er the back of my chair; 268 A Country Store Window. A mated, married Miriam — Mine By the sunlight in her hair! And not the memory of her name But her own self my care. VI. I arose a swiftly speeding Arrow to its mark Then — felt your warm heart bleeding Hit— hit in the dark. True love is like the air that sings Around the warring eagle, Bearing up his battered wings. Hail, armour-bearer regal. The Last Straw. 269 THE LAST STRAW. Does nagging wear the temper thin Bare down to the very nerve? They say you have, then, a thin skin And get what you deserve. That touchy fool of a thin-skin Gets well what he deserves; Pshaw! Naggs don't wear the temper thin Down bare to the quivering nerves. 270 A Country Store Window. PHANTASMAGORIA. A BLIND Worm curls upon the earth's fair breast, (An endless, helpless chain of loving souls. Slavers and slaves most cursedly caressed Each by the other) full of eyes like holes Of waspish hell-fire through a thin cold glaze Like the red moon on many dying days. Not blessed, the best; The worst, cursed. O, lover mortal chained to lover mortal, Slaves and slavers in an endless chain, Pray to heaven to be forgiven. Shriven ere you love again. Good and evil human man and woman, Go the way of all mankind ; Pray to heaven to be forgiven. Shriven for the human Mind. Phantasmagoria. 27 1 Follow, human man and woman, Where your heart is most inclined; The Best— the Worst— the Blind— not Blind; Uncertain, like a serpent wind In and out until you fmd That common zvay of all mankind ! O, thou Devil, there's no evil Save the Evil in man's Mind I 272 A Country Store Window. SONNET. The Pulses of immortal Time are found Never — save in the changing minds of men; For nothing mind hath ever touched is sound But changes, ripens and grows old and then Falls forgotten, rotten to the ground. A day may lengthen out to many a year And be a day — w^hen — lo ! a Thought takes fire And in a day a thousand years grow^ sere, While Time, without a pause upon his lyre, Changes the mode, with neither smile nor tear. Nothing grows old save Thought which hath the whole Universal Nature in which to range. And Nature hath no Age ; then, O, my soul There is no Age, for neither you nor Nature change. The Coward. 273 THE COWARD. Coward! Your King, is he right To expect you to fight for him? No? Lest you die on the field in the fight, Lest you yield to the enemy's might You fly from the camp in the night To the camp of the foe Whose midnight revelry runs at first sight of the Light; And their flight Is not slow. 274 A Country Store Window. HEART OF HEARTS. This talismanic amulet Will melt hell-fire to lips of Love, Unlock Heaven's diamond gateway set Against the grating of the Golden Glove. Heaven's gates fly open at the touch of Love And Earth turns in as one pursued of Hell, Rests there awhile within a Natural grove And drinks refreshm^ents from a Natural well And then — no more a scape-goat for Hell's hu- mors — Earth runs not out into the wilderness Where whisperings are and mockeries, and ru- mors, But forth to do battle with the merciless Who then, when night at dawn's first trembling starts, Find their first mercy and their Heart of Hearts. The Place of Prayer. 275 THE PLACE OF PRAYER. Yes, one may praise God anywhere. Less in the Town's discordant glare, Where men with men crowd and compare, Than in the open country air Where man may wonder God should care For man, and breath a humble prayer That he with that vast Nature there A little of God's love may share. 276 A Countiy Store Window SONGS OF AMERICAN YEOMAN. I. Sing, O, for your Puppets be-lorded and earled Who were good enough flesh when their titles began ! But what shall we call the Live Lords of a World, With the moral and physical courage of Man? Had they willed it, our Sires of foreign descent, We, too, had worn Crowns like the cap pulling Guilds ! But the Glory of Free men never was meant To shine o'er a name but a Nation that builds. Are we waiting for Lordlings to give us a stand In the world's Aristocracy? Ah, don't you know That our Liberty Pilgrims, by sea and by land Are the best Aristocracy Manhood can show. Songs of American Yeoman. 277 The blood of our Fathers, in vain is it shed When the Sons call the Foe to come laugh o'er their Dead. Who are they who have made it a thing of small credit To be an American? They who have said it. II. Silver is silver, but Gold is Man's Standard of Wealth; Nor can man's Alchemy color Dishonor by stealth And pass it for Honor — where Honor's ac- customed to move. Like the King in the blaze of the Sun with the Touchstone of Gold, To lighten the Loyal — to flash through the heart — to unfold — To force the hairy hand from the silver glove. The cursed consuming of Life in the Battle of Gain Hath left us no Standard save Silver and Gold and these twain Are the gods we must die for. Death we deserve and not Mercy. 278 A Country Store Window. This Song's in our heart and we must sing it out A Song of Faith in our welfare, Faith without doubt ; For the Sword of Justice hath a broad blade of JMercy. The Millions who march to the tune of the Golden Shower Mark by the size of their City their Progress and Power — But there's War and Want in the Town — in the Fields, Peace and Plenty. III. He IS the Heir to her toils who is proud of his mother ; He who is proud of her, fights for her, and for no other. The true born Son of the soil is the Lord we love. Are we afraid to be proud of her ? Have we no reason To lift up our heads with a shout for her? All in due season. The true born son to the front ! As the past can prove. Songs of American Yeomen. 279 IV. God's purposes o'er this Western Hemisphere, This fair and fruitful Garden, free to the Salt Of every Nation, are so evident JVho can suppose He means to lay it waste Before the first harvest and first vintage time? Alas, for the reigning Power so weak Whose strongest argument is War For War's sake, lest his People wreak Vengeance — who fears his People more! Oh, pitiful reason at Madrid That holds a War worth while, to keep Weakness in Power, God forbid That so many lives be held so cheap! And yet when the battle of Words is won We'll do what ours elect to do And nothing — after the Word has gone — Shall make us to ourselves untrue. 280 A Country btore Window. VI. O'er the Battle of Life Christ raised His hand and said : ''Blessed are the Merciful, for they Shall receive mercy" — no mercy came; instead Another Battle took fire; from that day For these Words, daily, for twenty hundred years There have been Men found willing to pay the Price, The Price of shame, contempt, oppression, tears, Discouragements, heart-renderings, scornful laughter, Patience unappeased — Death — and what after? This day that Price is justified ! To Spain A Christian People have returned their foes Twenty thousand prisoners home again To spread the wide wisdom that From Mercy flows. VII. Our Saxon feud of parted Blood The madness of dammed waters. Is free at last in a mingling flood Of generous Sons and Daughters. Songs of American Yeomen. 281 By drum beat of one Blood March we to one Great Good Mighty and Just; May this one Battle Song Make us superbly stong: "Onward to right the wrong; In God we trust." May we in every land Shoulder to shoulder stand One among Men. Give us that Power to give Peace to the Nations ; live True to Thy service: thrive Ever ! — Amen. 282 A Country Store Window. TO MARY ON GOING INTO THE COUNTRY. Away to your green life so soon From me and the yellow city! Mary mocks me to the tune Of "Pity, pity, pity." The golden, garden life again For you; for me the old refrain Of "Pity, pity, pity." The North and South Poles. 283 THE NORTH AND SOUTH POLES, To make thyself worthy of a woman — love her. And thou shalt be her equal — good or sinning ; Think not that what you are will ever move her; She is the Pole 'round which the Earth is spin- ning. 284 A Country Store Window. EDUCATION FOR THE POOR. We organize gret "Classes" Fur to elevate the "Masses" And learn 'em fust, that 2 and 2 makes four. Now, they ain't ashamed to grant This fac\ but what they want Is to stretch that number into 5 or more. I reckon 'tis much better Fur to learn 'em not the letter But to reccernize the Spirit of all Rules, An', fust of all, to take Those critters and to make The Kinder garden take the place o' Schools, Until they come to feel That it's better not to steal. Because what isn't there'n ain't quite their own, And many more sich rules, (Which isn't taught in Schools), As let that well, that well is, well alone. Education for the Poor. 285 Then give 'em yer big vollum' Full o' Larning, long and Solum Like a loaded cannon spilin' for a toon. An' I warrant they won't puzzle With their heads rammed down the muzzle And their silly feet a'-wavin' at the Moon. Edicaytion fur the Poor Is a grand thing, mighty sure, When yu show 'em how to aim it and at what; So, the best way is to start in Some kind o' Kindergarten And to learn 'em how to stan' behind the shot. 286 A Country Store Window. A PLEASANT THOUGHT. It is a pleasant thought that cheerful Time Keeps ever running out of the Sublime Past, With all the heritage of a Golden Prime, To greet the Present, change it e'er so fast, Nor Time, nor Tide, nor Life rest — yet they flow And ebb and cast their bread upon the waters, And the wheat-bearing banks in beauty grow From seeds that have been sown from manv quarters. An Essay on Byron. 287 AN ESSAY ON BYRON. Why the nobility have been arraigned For no ability hath never been explained. No doubt I've read my Byron somewhat brisker Than wiser men who plough and never sow; But Byron, the best of Bards (If I may risk a Judgment in a case I cannot know.) He rises from their midst like fertile Pisgah With the red sea and the wilderness below — (The simile would be completer still Were Pisgah a volcano, not a hill.) Enough! More can't be said of him in eight Lines, save ''gush" (that other pretty trick Of critics who cannot discriminate) A modern substitute for Rhetoric. I wonder will they soon eliminate The Line of Beauty for a Pedant's Stick ? Or are v/e striving to illuminate Our lamps with wind — a Pedant tongue for wick? 288 A Country Store Window, THE ATTACHE OF THE FOREIGN LEGATION. Two hours a day — Six month's vacation — Five hundred pounds pay And the thanks of the Nation ! To the " Patron " of Letters. 289 TO THE ♦^PATRON" OF LETTERS. Oh! Genius will not flee Your hue and racket; "Show us where swarms the bee And we'll attack it." Critics and Editors Who feign to ask it, You'll find your Creditors— In your waste Basket. 290 A Country Store Window. THE POETIC FEELING IN ART. Poetry is that calm, majestic figure Moving onward through all realms of Mind — TRUTH, the Sun of Hope before him ever Casting a long, dark shadowy Past behind. Music is the voice of those who speak not, Having thoughts too high for tongue to follow ; Songs that are true music, therefore, seek not Words, a discord unresolved and hollow. Thus will a womanly true singing woman Hear the martial beating of man's heart And feel it to be music vastly human — Far, far beyond the finger of his art. Temperance. 29 i TEMPERANCE. To gain an end that ends all is an ill. Tis better to have nothing than hold tight That which you cannot use ; for while uncrowned Thine energies have full liberty to fight — But crowned, they enslave themselves; their foreheads bound In irons forged in the heat of their own head- strong will. 292 A Country Store Window. RICH WAGE-EARNERS. You Rich have gorged your brains With thick, fat, salaried Stuff At cost of scarce more pains Than undigested ''bluff " (Oh! learning's cheap enough If you can buy a Book) Thousands starve in our street Who can (and some do) cook The salaries yoit eat. These are the men you cheat. The End and the Means. 293 THE END AND THE MEANS. Dost thou, then, wish to glean — Tares at some harvest time? For God's end justifies fair mean, But thin^ end is a crime. Still may'st thou reach God's end By means of God abhorred; But canst thou thus thy Soul defend And claim a fair reward? Ends are in God's control; Trust Him. Take thou but care By what means thou shalt touch His goal; By foul means or by fair? f 294 A Country Store Window. THE MEANS TO AN END. Man must not live by what he loves ! But by something that sorely racks him. (That Artists are immoral proves The truth of this old-fashioned Maxim!) Music, Literature and Art, Thus valued sheerly at cost price, Must, therefore, play so small a part We lose them without sacrifice. Goethe, Mendelssohn, St. Paul, Whose v/ork was their sublimest pleasure. Look ridiculously small 'Trocrusted" on this moral measure. The world may justly, then, conclude: To men who love their work of giving It owes no bread nor gratitude, Because — because they love their "living." Sickness is the price men pay for wealth ; And money man uiust have if he would live: Yet what is such a life bankrupt of health? What more than Money can such living give? The Means to an End. 295 O, Native Gift of man, full cruse of Oil, How cheaply hast thou paid thyself with Gold ! Smothering the Spring Divine of all thy toil ! Flow, flow, else art thou doomed when thou art tolled. 296 A Country Store Window. C3iRISTIAN MISSIONS. Truth, Hypocrites, will overcome your Smirk And be your Power which now you eye askance ; For Truth will overcome the World with work And never a backward step in his advance. Christians! you are no better than the rest While you your Truth have knowingly sac- rificed. Ah ! your Success comes wholly of your Best, The invincible Truth of your own Church of Christ. The Little Plaster Gods. 297 THE LITTLE PLASTER GODS. Did you ever hear of that wonderful Doll Made by a commonplace man, Who, coming to think of himself as a fool (Since he never was trusted except as a tool) Made himself over again by the rule Of a bright and original plan ? Those Wise Conceits who had kept him down As a puppet by fits and starts Declared him a fool who should lack their own Assurance and money and manners and gown And general air of owning the Town ; They wanted a man of "parts." So into a Doll of many a "Part" Of rag and hair and plaster, With a cunning machine in the place of the heart. He made himself— Master of every art Of seeming ; he looked so knowing, so smart They made him, at once, their Master. 298 A Country Store Window. Of the Commonplace Soul of the man, what be- came — I'll let you guess and gather; Though being himself unknown to fame, He had to provide his Doll with a name, So then, that all men might revere the same, He named him — **The Son of his Father.' The Real Man. 299 THE REAL MAN. I. Men only and all men make up the State. As the rich Sea, when shaken by the Wind, Throws up strange things for men to wonder at When the tide calmly breathes along the shore, This life of busy Nations stirred by War Throws strange men on Time's sands, some great, but that Time, when she gathers them in calmer mind, Will see to; for the rest all men are great. II. What if a World should blow its scornful blight Upon its best men's best ? He o'erlooks Fame Who can scorn petty things and lift his sight Out of a sidelong leer at praise and blame. 300 A Country Store Window. Leave your Soul's depth behind and climb your Might Depth will increase itself with high endeavor; Earth cannot measure one Soul's depth or height For Man's true greatness is in climbing ever. Pure Depths of Light, invisible so far, We follow you to many a visible Star Without a Spectroscope : we trust you as you are. Ill Failure ! Thou hast left a little oil Always. Though thy House be desolate A mockery to man and storehouse of the wind, Pour out that little ere that little spoil, And pay the debt thou owest to all mankind. That do unto a World that will not call thee great. Beethoven's First " Romance." 301 BEETHOVEN'S FIRST ''ROMANCE/' *'Heaven's Song," sings this Master-Spirit "Stills the Storm that will not cease," Who close their ears may also hear it For our Song is "Perfect Peace." 302 A Country Store Window. ''YES'' OR "NO'? Blushing, your beautiful eyes cast down. You give your hand to me ; What if that glance were to disown Your ''No"! Ah, can it be? Loving, cotdd you forever keep Your soul in its disguise, But now and then with a longing peep! I fain would trust your eyes. Here's music — a few Songs for you — More than one, for choice ; Oh, sing to me one thing that's true — For I fain would trust vour voice! Although thine eyes have come to be Like moonshine to a troubled earth And make the very Soul of me Seem something more than it is worth, The mystery is but a madding pain A Misery mysterious which nothing can explain. Thy shining only leaves behind A trouble to my peace of mind ; I will not see your beautiful face again. O, Love. 305 O, LOVE. '^Simofij I have somewhat to say unto thee." St. Luke, 7-40. Great Prophet of Simons and Poor women both^ Men, not in nature, differ, but in growth. 304 A Country Store Window. MODERN ''ART" Once more is Galatea stone, Pygmalion but a savage. For knowledge hath of Genius none While Genius hath no knowledge. A Toast. 305 A TOAST. Of all the good crumbs that are swept from the board The finest's a — what — d'ye — we — call 'em— A Toast (I had almost forgotten the word) *^Ab ovo usque ad Malum." For the sake of bread broken and customs that pass My dish for this dinner a toast is. Oh ! dip an occasional lip in your glass, A silent health to our hostess. Of all the bread broken and customs that pass The finest an old old-fashioned toast is; Drop a crumb of my toast in your cup or your glass, Think — and silently drink to our hostess. 306 A Country Store Window. PROSE— "ET PRAETERIA NIHIL/' The Critic calls my Poetry "prose;" It may be so for all he knows. "Bad prose," he adds. Well, there are those Fools, philosophers, friends and foes Who say all poetry is bad prose. A Revision of my "Sketches." 307 A REVISION OF MY "SKETCHES/* I FIND to live long in the World's noonday A Play must have a Plot : The World's a Plot, then, else a Play Is what the World is not. And yet if men were made to see Their parts in the Great Play unfurled No doubt this would appear to be Artistically a rounded World. So, after all, the truest plays Are those which strive to be But ''Sketches" of the broken rays Of an eclipsed Eternity. No, this attempt of callow days Is nothing to commend I'm seeking not for empty praise But only to defend 308 A Country Store Window. A strutting Printer's Page that plays At being a real Book, And loves to ape the grown-up ways Of men and women folk. Youth. 309 YOUTH. The Jester stills the bauble and the bells , Stands up to speak a word of earnest truth: ''When we are young, to rise at dawn foretells That £:z.'^r-presence of the Sun of Youth ; And, though we live to what we call old age, He is a "Youth" still— who is then a Sage. Old men have sovv^n their hearts and reaped a thistle Before the Law calls youth of their age men — Youth that will neither moult nor cease to whistle Till they have passed their three-score years and ten. Oh! Youth is an epitome of Years Full spent in the Light of Morning, Noon and Even; Smiles are not laughter nor sad faces tears To veins that drink the given light of Heaven. "Whom the Gods love die young," breathes not a sigh For those who can keep young until they die. 310 A Country Store Window. PROSPEROUS, CHEAP-SOULED PROPHETS. Degenerate descendants of Seers, There's a Sinister Bend in your work ; You are only the heirs of your peers, With your eyeglass, your shop-talk and smirk* The Flower of Refinement. 311 THE FLOWER OF REFINEMENT! A "PHILIP- PINE'' PARTY. ''Refine'^ your Philippine away In ditches at Pasig! At home you may hoot at 'em in your play And mimic 'em in a jig. With scanty dress and charcoal face And eyes made black and big, The crown of civil wit you place On a dirty, borrowed wig. Come, let's refine the FhiVippine And be ourselves the Pig; But, oh! for the Flower of Christian Power — We wouldn't give a fig ! 312 A Country Store Window. THE QUESTION. This Question looks at every man: Is Life a gift or a proving fire? Shall I take from Life what good I can Or pass, unscathed, to something higher ? Life is a gift ; so drink thy fill : A gift of fire, of fire to leaven. Of fire to lift you, if you spill No flame about, to the heights, of heaven. Borrowed Feathers. 313 BORROWED FEATHERS. Three wonderful, beautiful birds, sad to tell, alas ! Slaughtered and stripped of each beautiful wing To patch the frayed scalps of three plain would- be Delilahs, Awkward, who fly not nor yet can they sing. But why shouldn't they gather each cold, bor- rowed feather (The crown, of a commonplace Queen, such as Ann? It would hurt but their pride) and remake alto- gether, A flying and singing machine — if they can. 314 A Country Store Window. THE REAL TR^ORLD. Like sultry clouds before a storm Come cares of this world on ; but who Would care, when some girl's soul and form Are all the world and Heaven, too. To you. Cares are but shadows whose control Lies in the Light of one that's loved; Sun effects that prove the Soul, Though touched by shadows, yet unmoved. The Soul to the Body. 315 THE SOUL TO THE BODY. Could you strike but a spark I knozv I could love you And kindle a flame That should wrap you and move you Out of the dark; Quicken you, prove you, And give you a Name. 316 A Country Store Window. THE FEMININE SPIRIT. How melanch'ly the last refrain The "good-bye/' the ''farewell"; Whether we part to meet again Who can tell, who can tell ? An "Au Revoir" is nothing more Than Hope and often ends (However much we look before) In "good-bye" to our friends. Yes, she has gone. O, Riverdale How can ye bloom hereafter? To me your Summer has grown pale And doth not ring with laughter, Your beautiful Summer hath grown pale And cannot ring with laughter. Your brightness hath no light for me Because the only light You had, that ever I could see Was borrowed day and night. The Feminine Spirit. 317 Her face was oval, pale ; Her fine eyes dark and bright; And though so small, so frail, She seemed true woman's height. Yes, such was the ideai To which my thoughts all ran 'Twas she who made me feel *Twas good to be a man. 'Twas she who drew my best, As many women dare. Out of my wounded breast And left a poison there. *Twas she who lured my Soul Out of my bosom's deep And left it on a shoal To waste and weep. The woman whose Soul I loved For its breath of heaven, Alas, hath careless proved, Ay, soulless even. 318 A Country Store Window. Oh ! that she with whose Spirit I strove Her heaven to share, Alas, should soulless prove To my Soul's welfare. To remember the days of pain With a woman once loved Is to love the woman again, Though thrice false proved. So — send me another face For another past? Perchance to find some grace In a woman at last? Yes. Grant me another youth For another past? Perchance to find some truth In a face at last. Whether we part to meet again Who can tell ? I will not care Although that parting was all pain And I remember you were fair. The Feminine Spirit. 319 How melanch'ly the last refrain The "good-bye," the "farewell"; Whether we part to meet again None save her Soul can tell. 11. Dear, how you scorn me While I am pleading! What though you warn me? Love is unheeding. Yes, and you snare for me When our lives sever — Proof that you care for me- Always — or never. What is a woman! Win her who can. She is not a human One-sided man. Broadly she sees us In our devotion; Trying to please us, Swells like the ocean; 320 A Country Store Window. Light as the waves are, Deep as the sea; There, where our graves are, There is she; She who hath found us On the sea foam, Played with us, drowned us, Taken us home ; She who hath charmed us. Lured us with flotsam, Buried us, calmed us Deep in her bosom ; She who alarms us Out of our sleep, Nerves us and arms us By something — to keep; Kissed us and crowned us Lord of her home! May such love surround us Till Kingdom come! A Note on Keats. 321 A NOTE ON KEATS. Whence, whence comes this completeness So long before its prime? As note of Native Sweetness Grows not old with time. Not unripe is it, either, When the heart first beats. He is a Music breather This immortal Keats. 322 A Country Store Window. SHAKESPEARE, Nations, looking for one that was to be The very Mind of Nature, made many a crown. But placed it on the brews of lesser men Hailing them ''Shakespeare, the Great Poet"; — when England awoke and found the man was he, Her Shakespeare, dead, whom she had scarcely known. Too late for Crowns, then, for himself had wrought A crown immortal for the m.ortal brow Thrown back for Light upon the world below, Bent forward in an ecstasy of thought. The Real idealized, again made real, Hath touched to Light man's Star of Destiny, And man, to realize his true Ideal Follows — where Shakespeare teaches him to see. Shakespeare. 323 II. The Earth, too shallow even for a grave, Is peopled with Shades, and not a Generation ; Her facts, like the fleeing Shadows of a wave, Glide darkly o'er a boundless Imagination. III. Indeed, what do we gain to show That Shakespeare's Name is not Shakespeare? The Man is still the Man we know, Call him what you will; although No other Name is half so dear. 324 A Country Store Window. THE BUSINESS PROSTITUTE. Swearing, lying, bullying, cheating. To tickle Master Gold, With extra fleece you wander, bleating, Home to the pretty fold. Trim Misers, with your business cant **We must do thus to live," You would not be so apt to ''want" Were you more apt to give. Yourself you cheat but once a week — You pray with many a nod ; Or through gloved fingers, tongue in cheek, You grin at man — and God. Sleek Martyrs to the Common Lot, Who tell us with a sigh That "men must live" — liave you forgot That men must also dief The Religion in Fashion. 325 THE RELIGION IN FASHION. '*This Man Blasphcmeth" t O, You who rarely think of God, Whose Name is, yet, upon your lips To swear, "By God," between two sips, The wine you drink is fairly good ; Must we appease you in the end, {You choose to call us, now, profane!) As though we cared to call you friend And soothe your hypocritic pain? You are the kind that would do that ! But here we preach, and that's the worst, Because our preaching would fall flat Were you to cry, ''Heal yourselves first." Ye frivolous fools that wag the head And mock at what perchance may lead To naming God, O, Sirs, take heed Lest you mock that Vvdiich is not dead. 326 A Country Store Window. Oh! let us see your faces fall, Grow grave for once, think us profane- Are ye not fools to take in vain Rather than not take at all! An Appeal. 327 AN APPEAL TO THE HONOR OF REPUTABLE AUTHORS. ''What's in a Name," the Critic cries. Without pretending to be wise, Though Roses hold green worms and flies And all that in a Rose-bush lies, What Rose-bush would not blush for shame At offering worms in the Roses name? There's but one Bush so much to blame, Thev have mis-called it, sometimes 'Tame." 328 A Country Store Window. MARY BLESSINGTON IN ''A CUP OF TEA/ Mary Blessington, they say, Can act no better than she ought; And yet they put her in a Play, Thinking, perhaps, she could be taught. O, Amateurs, have you the skill To coach a child that's woman grown? Mary, thank Heaven, is Mary still ; A flower full-bloom, a flower half -blown. Mary Blessington, they say, Is just as sweet as she can be; Ah! now I know the reason they Have put her in ''A Cup of Tea." To Mr. and Mrs. A. T. 329 TO MR. AND MRS. A. T. I LONGED in former days For something like a curse; I longed for perfect praise, For my imperfect verse. That such a bargain pays Behold my Self-esteem ! Yet, alas ! for naught of mine is worth your praise — Save only my present theme. 330 A Country Store Window. THE CRYSTAL COMMONWEALTH. Out of his Youth's Home, The Son who will be great ; Who rises thenceforth to become The Father of a State. So many to one end, Republics each and all, God and one country to defend Each at a brother's call. Forty-five free States To one cause lift their prayers ; March out to salute their unknown mates And make one hero theirs. God, 'tis a stirring- thought That, million after million, Men, of their own free will, have brought One flag to one Civilian. The Crystal Common v/ealth 331 And a still deeper thought — These Commonwealths of Ours (Once rent in twain, now wrought in one) Whose dawning Mission hath begun To rise, before scarce knew they sought — A Commonwealth of Powers. 332 A Country Store Window. A TEMPERANCE SERMON. by an after-dinner speaker. Texts : *'Let your Light so shine/' etc. "Believe not every Spirit." ''Arise, shine, for thy Light has come.'* Oh ! wait till you get to be forty, Young men of intemperate blood, And, then, if you've tried to be naughty, You'll wish you had tried to be good; When the Asses' Banquet is over And the Barmecide Feast begins; When your sumptuous crop of red clover Is chewed in the cud of white sins ; When the glory of youth goes — a-smoke (When it should have burned out, but has not) And the fire's dead. — Is it a joke To be cold when you want to be hot? A Temperance Sermon. 333 Now, look you, I point you a moral Which all of us knozv to be true ; Thus, Ass that I am, I must quarrel With other Asses like you; Just as you, too, are as blatant O'er truths I'm pretending to scorn. By my faith, were all Truths really patent, Oh ! where were the need to be born. Every man^s truth is the newest Who finds it himself — but don't preach; For me my ozvn truth is the truest, And that's a good gospel for each. So here's to the man who holds steady By all that he feels to be good — But, I warn you, this wine is too heady For men of intemperate blood. Then speak not your Truth, till the Spirit Is flashed from you at a true call Through the dark — as the light of one planet Lends light to the Light of them all. 334 A Country Store Window. TO NIKOLA TESLA. lOn the Fire which seemed to destroy the work of years. No, Tesla ! Burnt up by no fire Save the fire of your brain ; Your work's a heap of ashes here, Here of living coal — but higher In the purer atmosphere You begin your work again. The Spirit of " Walden." 335 THE SPIRIT OF **WALDEN/' Possession ! But why should we strive To grasp more than our needs can hold? For just enough keeps man alive; On more than that he cannot thrive. And thus it is with Gold. In much less than one hundred years I go whence I shall not return, And all this Dust unto my heirs I leave, which they must leave to theirs, Or give away — or burn. That Mass, the World's Wealth, is no more Than Earth, nor better than her mould; And man, first poor, then rich, then poor, Although of Gold, he leave a store In measure manifold, Makes Earth no richer than before — To Earth belongs all Gold. 336 A Country Store Window. CAPITAL PUNISHMENT* No man can taste Death and yet live. It doth seem a strange Sport That Justice can see fit to give A pain none can report! A Letter. 337 LETTER TO DR» PONTIFEX MAXIMUS GILT^ EDGE.— FROM JOHN SMITH. Dear Dr. Giltedge : You're the Editor Of the most eclectic magazine That ever gathered rain to shed it o'er The blazing beauty of mid-summer green! Read — yet stop! should you praise my play, for once You'd run the risk of being thought a dunce. Well, read my play as fairly, Mr. Editor, At least as you'd spell out a classic ode — But spare me your opinion, when you've read it o'er, That is no guide-post to the Public Road. I say "at least," for one may be enchanted With ease where one can take the good for granted. But I am glad you think my play so fine, Though how th^ devil did you ever guess it! There's nothing in the play to show it's mine — Except my name and that would hardly bless it. 338 A Country Store Window. Ah! since I've lured your Public to my level Must you, too, follow then, to please the devil? I can't help thinking, by your honeyed tones, You have mistook the Author of my play ; For ''Smith" is not a pseudo-nym for Jones, The Author of the "Masqueraders," say. My play is all mine own — and so's my name (That is, as much as any Smith can claim.) Oh! how ungrateful thus to cast a doubt On your sincerity. O, Friend in deed, Accept my thanks (which you can do without) For praise (of which I do not stand in need). Oh ! that of all the praise bestowed on you You could have earlier spared a w^ord or two. Prisons and Colleges. 339 PRISONS AND COLLEGES. A Prison makes man downright bad Where he was merely weak before; A College takes one callow lad And thence turns fools out by the score. A Prison's no place for the Good — A College no place for the Great; For Colleges and Prisons would Reduce all men to the same state. 340 A Country Store Window. THE NEW WOMAN. "An Ape has," some one said — ''His human counterpart;" — An Ape can stand firm on his head, The world, firm on its heart. In spite of the New Woman This world will not be led To risk that feat inhuman Of standing on its head. The Feathered Finger. 341 THE FEATHERED FINGER. All night would the Owl complain . With a stare from that big yellow eye That sent a shiver a-down the rain As far as an Owl can fly, Just far enough to light the ground Where his feathers 'neath the rain would linger Gathered again without a sound By someone with a feathered finger. As in and out that finger stole Soulless it seemed. I wonder why? That everybody hath a Soul How can we tell until we die? Save the assurance that Christ died For every man — we could not tell. Come, Memory, thy tablets hide And break this melancholy spell. 342 A Country Store Window. II. The Elder Maid stooped down and said: *'Wee sister, how much do you love me?" The little Miss gave her a kiss And sighed ''As far as you're above me." ''But tell me when you love me best." The child looked wise, said, "Let me see. Yes, when you stoop down to be kisser^ But best of all when you kiss me." And then the little girl with laughter Full of love ran to her sister, Smothered the laugh in her lap and after Looked up shyly, flushed and kissed her. With yearning infinite the elder With a kiss to make the younger linger Lovingly in her arms close held her And caressed a — feathered finger. TIL Her Soul rises free from the fallen veil ; Divinely she shines in the Holy Place. Though the richly wrought Form in the grave wax pale Yet the Soul is more beautiful than the face. The Feathered Finger. 343 IV. In the Palace of Truth, in the River Lethe, the Life of the Sleeping, There's a magical, mystical Mirror In a sweat of continual terror, A Silence, despairing and weeping — And staring. Back to back are the eyes of the Mirror, Millions transparently clear, But their look is habitual terror Born of a horrible fear. Through the Windows and Doors of the Palace Lethe, the River, keeps creeping And stealing Along by the feet of the Mirror, Depositing Burdens of Terror, The Souls of those who judge, sleeping. Reviling their foes and revealing The Truth. There's a Palace of Truth and of Terror Where no Soul itself may forget. For that mystical, magical Mirror Keeps tracing all Souls in her sweat. 344 A Country Store Window. Said one Soul to another there "Would you give your Soul to your Sister ?'* ''No!" she answered that Spirit fair, And that Spirit stooped and kissed her. " To the Glory of God." 345 TO THE GLORY OF GOD, IN MEMORY OF J. J. BOMBASTER/' Hoiv can this Stone, in memory Of one, J. J. Bombaster, Be to God's Glory? Such as he, Who rise again in plaster 'To the Glory of God," oh ! will they be Remembered— by their Master? A thief, whom men once doomed to be Raised to a cross of shame, Sighed as he died "Remember me, Lord!" — and his answer came ''Verily shalt thou be with me This night"— what was his name? 346 A Country Store Window. BOHEMIAN ♦^MIMI." Lines written on her Fan. Some people really are of sin half glad, Because 'tis not yet clearly understood (A mooted question still among the bad) Whether 'tis better to be bad or good. So argues the ''Bohemian" Philosopher; Self-styled; a fool he proves himself to go so far. For, though a little laughter in the eye, Like pepper in your soup, is a good fault, You mustn't laugh enough to make you cry And turn the pepper to a sea of Salt. T say, to see a little of Bohemy Behind a fan is pepper to the squeamy. There's nothing in this flirting World So dangerous as a fan unfurled; Therefore, if you are a man, Fold it and keep it — if you can. Bohemian "Mimi." 347 Ah! well, I will return your fan; Not that I think you need it, Alas, but that some brother man May profitably "read'' it. Favored indeed were this favor fan, With one so fair to pray for it. Were it not doomed by many a man To be his stolen favorite. O, Mimi, your "Bohemia'* Holds you too good for man; Yet Earth holds nothing — "Mimier" Than this Bohemian Fan. 348 A Country Store Window. THE AUTHOR. It sounds, you say, too much like Hood ; By Hood, then, let it be ! What matter ; if only the poem be good, Whether by Hood— or me? An Apology. 349 AN APOLOGY FOR BEING " INVOLVED/' Though there are no new facts beneath the Sun, Facts hold as many harmonies of Light As there are harmonies of Sound in one Great Scale of Nature still for man to write. Why should I tell you two and two makes four? Long, long ago, Pan piped that simple Song; And, to be charmed now, ears need something more (Maybe because men's ears have grown so long!) Twice eight are sixteen ; the square root of which Is just the same as two and two — no less — But an idea more difficult to teach For difficult thoughts are difficult to express. Ah! Cost it no pains to get your ''New" song heard The thought therein would not be worth a word. 350 A Country Store Window. THE AGNOSTIC ''CIRCLE/' Yes; perfect as the perfect Circle — wrought! Your way entire at every point is seen, So short is your diameter of thought ; Nothing to hope for beyond that routine. Good God, you human ground moles feel the rain And know so blindly you are but half beast, Can nothing shatter that ''Circle" of your brain And prophesy a Sunrise in the East? Arrogant Mockers of miracles, how brief Your Glory! For you cannot, being blind, See beyond, by Act of Pure Belief, The circumscribed horizon of your Mind. "Handle Me and See!" 351 ** HANDLE ME AND SEEl" Behold the Resurrection you have longed to prove, The deathless Flower of Death, Life's incor- ruptible Bloom! No more this groping, toiling blindly in a groove ; Arise, shine, for thy Light hath risen from the tomb. 352 A Country Store Window. A POSSIBLE USE FOR MY POEMS. Should my 'Tottery" stand or fall At the braying of an ass, Then let it serve as a cat-call To send the cloven-foot to grass. Life's Paradox. 353 LIFERS PARADOX. Tombs of the Famed on the barren Hill of Mars ! — Success hath capped thee, Art, too near the ground ; But Failure must raise her Temple above the Stars, Behind the clouds, or ever the top is crowned. Success is failure laid aside forever, A pagan promise on an arid hill — But Failure is an undiscovered river A fertile flowing with the Ocean's will Where yet no ship hath been nor any kind of Mill. 354 A Country Store Window. THE COMFORTER, The finest joy a man can know, Scattered in youth, takes root in tears — Love, the Life-tree, cannot grow Otherwise to perfect years. Is this the value of all pain The power of all the tears we shed? Yes, yes, for tears give back again Our Failures raised as from the dead. However dark our sunless shadows move They leave no record on Life's dial plate 'Till pain comes, failure — 'till thou, Son of Love, Com'st to transfigure these and make them great. Modern Art. 335 MODERN ART. Artists create a jewelled "Loving Cup" — Never to touch the lips of human lovers; Poets pick foreign words and line them up Between two antique, curiously wrought covers. Connoisseurs with foolishly wise face Faults see, but the Great Failure overlook — Facsimiles so sadly out of place, One as a loving cup, one as a Book. You wordy affectations of sad thought. Betray the dignity and use of Leather! Elaborate designs on practics wrought Play blind-man's buff with the use and art of either. 356 A Country Store Window. SONG, I WAS breaking my heart o'er a token To send you, a song to be sung, When you proved that *t was easier broken^ By bidding me — hold my tongue. "Whom the Lord Loveth." 357 WHOM THE LORD LOVETH HE CHASTEN ETW* Lift thine eyes, thou broken-hearted; Weep not for this fonn departed: 'Tis no more himself that's gone Than his shadow done in stone. This is not the man ye knew, Tis but a sketch thy poor eyes dreW! Of what must ever lie behind Life's veil. He is not even asleep, And yet, think'st thou thou art alone ?i Weep not — and yet if thou rdust weej^ Weep that thine eyes are still too blind. Too full of crying to believe What thy mortality forbids; Soon thou'lt be sighing to receive A rainbow caught between the lids. 358 A Country Store Window. THE PANORAMA. Laughing, crying, Life goes flying Past all pleasure, past all pain; And our speeding A receding To be journeyed o'er again. In the Philippines. 359 IN THE PHILIPPINES, FEBRUARY, ^899* The Captive's cry is an alarm Freemen will not let drown — This Liberator lifts his arm To strike the Captive down! Faith, blindly, in both hands, hath given Stretched out to him her gains; Those freed hands simply clasped to- heaven Receive from him but chains. Fighting for freedom — a device Unworthy of the brave. Since the new lord pays a generous price For this ungrateful slave Who cries out, trusting not beyond The letter of the Writ : "/ am not mentioned in your bond, Thou canting hypocrite!" 360 A Country Store Window. 'Tis so; when faith begins to shake On reeds of broken law Then must the tyrant learn to bake His ozi'Ji bricks — without straw. Just God, when faith hath learned to weep Bowed down into the dust Then must the tyrant learn to reap Long harvests of mistrust. Stay Thou the hypocritic hand That murders in Thy name ; A bloody smell corrupts the land, A shameless deed of shame. . The cannon's mouth blurts out unshamed Its blatant vanity — And every heart it tortures — claimed For Christianity! By cut and thrust the boastful sword Bullies above the brave Who bought in faith our damaged word That we had come to save. Broad Puritanism 361 BROAD PURITANISM. As were the days of staff and scrip So were the days of stock and whip Once acorns of a ruling creed ; Ere they can take a broader grip, Growing things must go to seed. To taper down from an excess Is wise for those who do exceed, Alas, the many! — None the less The wise man holds that ruling creed Which Nature teaches him to think- To broaden up from narrowness, To grow, is better than to shrink. None but a fool would care to slip Just punishment and turn to laughter; Since Justice-rfr^^^ imist pass the lip I'd rather die here than hereafter. Nay, none but a fool would dare to slip Just punishm.ent, for fear of worse; Since Justice-dregs but touch the lip Drink now — escace the coward's curse. 362 A Country Store Window. ANYBODY'S VISDOM. Dost foresee a heavy sorrow In the days that are to be? Let it flee unto the morrow — If thou canst foresee, Rest, let it flee. Come, Sorrow, come whene'er you will ; We're ready ; though we stand at ease And drain sweet joys, we but refill The cup. When pleasures cease Then sorrows please. Present joys are sorrows past ; Then welcome sorrows such as these. Are they not better first than last? Youth, whistling up a breeze. May conquer seas. A Miracle. 363 A MIRACLE. Yes, here am I past 50 years of age And sighing like a schoolboy for a girl; 'Though thirty love years burn upon Life's page Its edges have not yet began to curl. No, life grows ever larger, brighter, newer As the years burn on since first I spoke love to her. 364 A Country Store Window. REALITIES AND REFLECTIONS. Ev'n Shakespeare shows you but his eyes Not what behind that mirror lies. If you see friend or foe therein 'Tis but reflection of his skin. As far as you yourself have grace You'll penetrate behind that face. Beauty must have faces two; False to false and true to true. God grant me honest — for I see Faces beautiful to me. Emerson. 365 EMERSON. What ! Can there be no new Real Poet 'neath the Sun ! Oh ! but there are so few — And Emerson is one! 366 A Country Store Window, WEA.THER-WISDOM. O, Serio-comic Fame, thy Manuscript Lies quivering in a bow! Come, trim the feather ; Hit or miss, at last the barb has slipt. You aimed straight — ^but you can't control the weather. Christ's Divine Birth. 367 CHRIST'S DIVINE BIRTH. How can the truth of Christ's Divine Birth be doubted ? >Jo such vital legend of serious beauty can have been Imagined by man — it is sanctioned by the in- spiration Men have drawn from it for two thousand years. Who doubts but scares himself with his own fears — No mind can dawn on such a vital glory; An Inspiration of two thousand years Hath sanctioned this most exquisite, true story. 368 A Country Store Window. MAGAZINE EDITORS. They can't look into things — They haven't got the time; They listen, while it sings. To the ripple of the rhyme. The Pack Horse. 369 THE PACK HORSE. When I began to feel the oats I earned I worked to earn not only oats but clothes ; And when I looked for oats my master turned And gave me in his hand not oats — ^but oaths. 370 A Country Store Window. MAN-THE TOUCHSTONE. By Virtue honor lives. The Stars, the Moon Are but self-decorations of the Sun Which fade in the heat of his heroic Noon ; They had no Hght to give him, had he none, For darkness covers all that looks to such one. Christmas Morning. 371 CliRlSTMAS MORNING. Whispered the Angles just before Christ's Birth ; "Will God be born and die like men? Thii Morn Enter Man's life and be a Babe on Earth !" "Hush! it hath come to pass; the Babe is born." And, hurrying on, this new-starred Earth they sought Where Love was proving greater than even tht Angels thought. 372 A Country Store Window. THE FIN-DESIECLE CRUSADER. The battle is good for the men who come To measure face to face; Good for the man — who marches home But — what for the human race? His brains are all bent to the battle goal And cannot pause for a whim Such as "honest confession is good for the Soul,'* And "leave the results to Him." No; but he's proud of just muscle and bone And wants to make room with his fist Which he calls, in a smug, sanctimonious tone, 'The Strong Right Hand of Christ;" And protests that he follows the finger of God While God says he does not; He's but smitten again with the fever of blood And the cry of — God knows what ! The Friend. 373 THE FRIEND. Blue sky and evening Star And the lighted Street below Where Souls that in the marble are Still flicker to and fro. Burning to some bright end But dimly seen afar, Each to some gazing friend Ev'n now is as a Star. 374 A Country Store Window, CHILDREN, The night is long because it's dark And little folks no longer play; With all its lights 'tis but a spark That flickers by the sleepin- Day. I make my verses short as day And boast no Magnus Opus, for When / have nothing more to say I go to sleep and talk no more. My First Apology. 375 MY FIRST APOLOGY^ You who still wonder and still care to ask (To whom the reading, therefore, was no task) Who may this writer be, alone deserve To be appeased, (though he still keep his mask) With this ''apology," kept in reserve; For you only have the right to blame A scribbler who deceives you with his name. An anonymity is vile I know, but I want you to wonder Who I am ; it is such fun to Make you wonder for a while. Just let it be enough to know We know each other. The fun over, Should you care then to discover, ril uncover, make my bow. Who have followed me so far and fast, This, my First Apology, read last. THE END. /^M -,. I MAR 26 1901