^ ^ t^ n^ ^ ^ JClie loit^r^ra *^ ^ Their First Chapbook. ^ e^ POEMS. ^ ^ ^L ^ e^St i^^ ) ^ oe *^S i ^ e^ Pf ^ n^ <3 II ^ ^ Pr/cc fifty cents ^ ^ ^ dJF 1st Edition ^ e^ %c^ THE LOITERERS and OTHER POEMS By LOUIS LEAKEY Published by The Loiterers Carnegie Hall, New York. Copies may be had from Brentano's or Putnams. 1920 Copyright LOUIS LEAKEY 1920. rbB 18 1920 J .A56i886 -M'C ^ THE LOITERERS THE LOITERERS When tired of the everlasting rush. 1 dreamed of some quiet day When I could linger long And slowly say my say, With pause, and no constraint To finish ere begun ; Or, could I merely dream 'Mong dreamers, kin of dreams! That we might do or think Without a thought of "seems," — Without a care, but such as snare A mortal, hurry sated. O then awoke a thought, That thought that wakes in most (Man's mind's gregarious ever:) We'll pool our dreams, not sell them; We'll dream our dreams, and tell them, — True Loiterers we'll be. We'll gather round a fire, Or smoke till muses come ; We'll sit and wait, and never prate Of logic ; no, be rather dumb And deaf and blind, than be dread tiresome. 6 O hie thee, weary panter, To where we listless lie; Our wits can still well canter, There's fire in our eye. But we look not for the dollar. We long not for the spoil; We've slipped from leash and collar, We're Loiterers tonight; You're welcome if you're restful. We've struggled through the fight. No weighty theory, stodgy plan. Shall mar our whimsy ways ; We'll silent stay, or talkative, — We'll call no yeas or nays. No dusty roads shall Loiterers tread. They'll choose their path where fancy leads. They've toiled erstwhile for daily bread: They now can mount those airy steeds That springing joyous over woes (Those woes we weave from treasured wrongs) Find rest in zephyrs, fairy courts. Rings made by fairy folk of yore. All ready, waiting; placid planes Where mortals, welcomed, ever again Long to revel, free from strain. Those stabled steeds of Pegasus, Those thought-shod hoofs of rhyme, They sometimes range the heavens, But often bide their time In just those peaceful, lustless lanes True Loiterers ever find. 8 Shall Pegasus in zephyrs rest? Aloud exclaim the logic minds. Ah, yes ! You, cripples, crawl at best. Your syntax rules, your grammar binds. Poor Pegasus is also proud ; His hoofs shall rest, his maney crest Shall deep in four-leaved rhymlets rove ; And he shall nod, where no man trod Save Loiterer true, who, deep in love With Nature, Art, shall worship God In places sweet, unstained by gold — In places new, though wondrous old. 9 INCENSE 12 INCENSE Roaming round a den of truest art, Browsing on books, on pictures gazing keen, I sought what 1 was apt to reckless find, — A sepulchre for my departed Lady Nicotine. A carved metal's tesselated arch Rose in tiny splendor on the heavy-draped shelf I lifted light the knob that held the patined lid. And dropped within, my Pall Mall's conse- crated ash. And there it lustering hid. 13 But lo! it fell upon an incense powder long disused ; And mounting slow the studio's sloping glass- crowned roof A spiral wreath of sclented vapor rose. The guests were there, — ^those guests one finds In Tracy's home of art, Of every world a precious chipped-off part, Chosen at ease in far off land, or near. Just that sweet place That gentle souls enchant. And rough ones urge To efforts more worth while. — And I, enamoured of the incense rising, Spiral climbing. In a thrilled, ecstatically thrilled ozone. 14 Informed by art, by music's strain uplifted, Rising more high my tired soul to rock In upper calms away from Subway shock, I dreamed, entranced. Not hashish-festered dream. But sweet remembrance, sweeter, deeper, far. Than rising incense in that tiny jar (Pierced by the skill of Asia's artist hands). Laden with thoughts that Omar's would out- shine Were ever thoughts in commerce balance weighed, — Which God forbid, O Lady Nicotine! 15 music mine, Trilled to my ear And nestling in my heart, Hearest thou, Man? And Woman, hearest thou? 'Tis Heaven speaks. Now hear the Voice of God. Lo, here on earth, 1 knew that incense Had been burned in bygone times In that same strange and twisted work of art, And that perhaps uprose A bygone past. Blending with ours. I 16 What sound is that? What hacking, mortal cough? What scent is that? — That sarcophagian sound, Hollow and drear, that calls me back to Earth Hold, O ye angels. Hold me again ! Reach me your hands, Uplift now high your wings ! Rise high with me, My heart, my spirit sings. Glad be my soul ! Hark ! heavenly chorus rings. Heaven 1 perceive, O lift me, heavenly wings ! Dec. 16. 1919 17 ,!rI^f^f^Ry OF |.£??'G'?ESS ® 015 aS'''?* 939 78rr^