^^ -««a' ^.J,-^ '^o^ ) o " o * 'o .*** °^ "• ^^o ,^^'-;;;4i>^ c^'-^;:"^- /^>i^^\. IF LOVE WERE KING By Edward Willard Watson, M.D. TO-DAY and yesterday. 12mo. Cloth. $1.25. SONGS OF FLYING HOURS. 12mo. Cloth. $1.25. OLD LAMPS AND NEW. 12ino. Boards. $1.25. H. W. FISHER & CO. Philadelphia, Penn. IF LOVE WERE KING AND OTHER POEMS BY EDWARD WILLARD WATSON H. W. FISHER & CO. PHILADELPHIA 1915 '"V Copyright, 1915 By Edward Willard Watson, M.D. All rights reserved Published August, 1915 ^ >4 •SEP -7 1915 ©CI.A'311404 DEDICATION For thee I weave, as best I may. The flying fancies of my hours. To linger, when I end my day. Upon my grave, like faded flowers. The sunlight of each day that goes. The shadow of each night that lies Upon thee, are not ever foes To thy dear face, in lover's eyes; For day leaves light that will not die. And night the calm that ever grows. As, year by year, our lives go by Unto the end that no man knows. For thee? Ah, nevermore for thee, alas, I sing the songs that only fade and die; Like thee, they too into the silence pass And lose themselves in the unpitying sky. CONTENTS If Love Were King 3 Love and the Preacher 4 One and the Same 4 My Punishment 5 Eve, My Eve 6 Too Late 7 To Her 7 Cleopatra 8 An Epitaph to Two Dead Lovers 10 To A Dying Queen 10 SONNETS OF A LOVER Love Lingers 15 Waiting 15 My Flower 16 Ere Falleth Dark the Night 17 Despair 17 Renunciation 18 Good-Bye 19 Longing 19 The Wanderer 20 Like Foolish Children 21 LYRICS Cloudland 25 The Marshes 25 iEOLIAN 27 [ vi; ] CONTENTS PAGE Skyscrapers 29 The God of Guns 31 Little Things 33 Pioneers 34 Sunset 35 A Mother's Question 35 Flowers of the Barren Fields 36 The Island on the Bar 38 A Wish 39 Apart 40 In Memoriam 40 Mater Dolorosa I 41 Mater Dolorosa II 42 The Preacher 43 All Things Are in the Sea 44 DREAM VERSE The Song of the Night 49 Dreams 50 Dreams 51 In Dreams 51 Death and Dreams 53 Death 53 Drifting to Sleep 54 Dreams and Death 55 The Vision 56 Spring, Love, and Death 57 Lead Me, Oh Lead Me 58 SONNETS ON PERSONS Dickens 63 Edgar A. Poe 63 Weir Mitchell 64 [ viii ] CONTENTS PAGE In Memory of Charles Battell Loomis .... 65 Andree 65 To a Dead Humorist 66 SONNETS The Soul Moth 69 Spring's Advent 69 Trailing Arbutus 70 Aspiration 71 Life 71 Our Place 72 Immortality 73 Like Flowers That Die 73 War 74 We Are One 75 Like Whirling Dust 76 The Song of the City 77 Unsung 78 If We Only Knew 78 To Swinburne 81 Song of the Shades 82 The Morning Star 83 David's Lament 85 Where? 87 To Me the Little Vine 88 Failure 88 "The Field Is the World" 89 The Hopeless Way 91 Astrology 92 The Gods of Eld 93 Lost Treasure 95 The Jewel in the Lotus 95 World-Songs 96 "For This Is Thy Share in Life" 97 [ ix ] CONTENTS PAGE In a Garden 99 As One Who Dreams 103 To THE Allies 105 BLANK VERSE AND FREE VERSE Shadows 109 The Cry of the Weary 112 Despair 113 A Memory 114 The Mask of Death 115 Wireless 115 By the Sea 116 Mental Telegraphy 119 Snow 121 The Return of Pan 123 Song of Pan 129 Cloudland 131 Hello! Hello! 133 In the Night 137 [ X ] IF LOVE WERE KING AND OTHER POEMS IF LOVE WERE KING The rolling world has many lands And many tyrants o'er them reign, And prisoners lift their fettered hands, While all the earth is filled with pain; But mighty prison bars would break And chains no longer clank and cling. If love were king. And all the earth is filled with strife, Proud armies march o'er hill and plain, They quench a thousand sparks of life That nevermore may burn again; But gentle peace would come and dwell And life would be an endless spring. If love were king. And o'er our hearts, where hate doth glow, Dear love would enter in and reign. Without, the winds of strife might blow. But in our homes they'd strive in vain; The wilderness would burst in bloom With flowers, the desert blossoming. If love were king. [ 3 ] LOVE AND THE PREACHER "The world is filled with agony and tears" Cried the great preacher, and his people wept. And as he thought of life and his lost years. Across his soul a mighty torrent swept. "All life is vain and sorrow is our lot." Yet in his soul a voice spake, loud and clear; "A vale of misery this world is not, For love is here." ONE AND THE SAME I AM the one whom the world has called Hathor and Eros, Here, Amor. Me they bowed to as Ishtar once. Shrined on the low-lying Tyrian shore; Tammuz, Astarte, Isis — names That veiled from the eye a thousand shames. Age by age I have purged the dross. Watching it burn in my altar fires, Sensuality's glittering floss With the clinging slime of base desires. Step by step have I lost the sin. Reaching the gulf of the years across. Still the hearts of the race I win, [ 4 ] Gathering gain from my dear-bought loss. Come ye gladly; no longer I dwell High on the mountain, nor lure I now Knights sworn fast to the Holy Grail, Virgins who low at Christ's altar bow. I am pure and your hearts I claim. Heart of the maid who blushes red, Heart of the youth of unmade name, Heart of the man who woos to wed. Queen am I of the arms that toil, Queen of the millions waiting long, Queen of the warrior who wins the spoil. And queen of the poet who maketh the song. MY PUNISHMENT This is my punishment, for if I only Loved you, I 'd bear it in silence, or say, I can endure to live — to be lonely — Keeping my love in my bosom alway. But that you love me and suffer this pain for me, This is the anguish that tortures my heart. This is the burden that life has cast over me. Loving, yet fate keeps us ever apart. This is my sorrow, your eyes gazing sadly. The dream of the love that might have been mine, [ 5 ] The cry of my heart that to have you beats madly, The loss of my one love that might be divine. This is the passion flower growing within me, The print of the nails you may see on the leaves, The wound of the thorns for the love that can win me No bloom in its present, no store in its sheaves. EVE, MY EVE O Eve, my Eve, I wait beneath the tree. The apples ripe so slowly, one and all; The stems, that seem such little things to be. Hold on so tightly — oh that one might fall ! So many years we wait, O Eve of mine. So long we watch the blushing apples grow; The rich, rare color spreads, complete and fine, But was there ever ripening quite so slow.f^ And when they do fall, will you run with glee And grasp the red, ripe apple that above Mocked us who watched in patient misery. Wearily waiting for the fruit of love.^ And then — ah, will you give it then to me? Is there no other Adam waits and yearns? Thou canst, for thou art still unbound and free, While in my lieart eternal passion burns. [ 6 ] Stoop, Eve, my Eve, hold out to him who waits Thy gift of knowledge, evil fruit and good. I '11 take the good and bless the fickle fates, Daring the evil with love's hardihood. TOO LATE Time glides along, swift as a dream. And lulls our souls and veils our fate, Till in a moment, down the stream. We wake. Ah, God! it is too late. The light is gone from loving eyes. The gray has frosted golden tress. And silent now the fond heart lies That throbbed to answer each caress. Yes, time has flown. Why now bemoan And all our vanished chance berate? Love answereth not for sigh or groan. Alas, sad heart, it is too late. TO HER Now doth the glory of the sun Fade out abashed when she is nigh, And the bright stars as, one by one, Before her glance they fade and die. [ 1 ] She walks at evening through the field And heather bright its blossom hides, Her cheeks they shame the poppies red. They wilt and die, but she abides. My strong, my lovely one, I watch Thee, only thee. Thy gleaming hair Doth all the daylight's radiance catch And fills with light the ambient air. The curling wave but strives to reach Its arms to thee, earth's fairest pearl; And on the wide and snowy beach Its wavelets, spent, in sorrow curl. Strong-limbed and white, with gliding tread. She swings amid the apple bloom, Proud as the envious sky o'erhead, And light she brings where all was gloom. CLEOPATRA Thy languorous curves of loveliness Are lost forever to the eye. The murmuring music of thy voice On empty air away doth die. Nor canst thou gaze, through Egypt's haze, Across the blue and ancient sea, [ 8 ] Where sails unfurl, on bays of pearl, And drift past isles of mystery; Nor sunset crimsons the pale rose That on thy swarthy cheek peeps through. Nor moonbeams silver o'er thy locks And glint upon thine eyes of blue. Thy bosom bare, thy jewelled brow. Thy slender fingers ringed with gold. The dark, dim masses of thy hair, Lie in the dust, all still and cold. The rubies of thy coronet Are lost beneath some lonely mound, Where shifting sands o'er Egypt's lands Like snowflakes drift, without a sound. Thy palaces are dust, O Queen, Thy carven pillars overthrown! The lizard creeps their rifts between. Thy pleasant gardens overgrown. O Cleopatra, Egypt's queen! Thy name is silent in thy land. All heedless go the Fellaheen, But distant nations understand. For legend wove thee, fine and fair. In time's historic tapestry And drew thy jewelled beauty rare, A queen earth nevermore may see. [ 9 ] AN EPITAPH TO TWO DEAD LOVERS Let their souls rest, as God our souls shall leave; Some power beyond the world draws heart to heart. For as the winds where'er they list may blow, Nature and nature's God their part each weave, And love resists the charmer's every art. And hearts that should not with mad passion glow. God rest their souls. Beyond His net of stars, Beyond His veil of death they somewhere are. The world is filled with tangled threads of fate. Of prisoners beating 'gainst their prison bars. Of lovers by earth's barriers sundered far. Of souls bound close with clanking chains of hate. TO A DYING QUEEN What shall we bring thee, O Queen, In this hour of thy sorrow.'* What shall we lay on thy breast In thy throne room to-morrow .f* All of our hearts thou hast. In thy hand they are lying. Thy life is vanishing fast; O Queen dearly loved, thou art dying. [ 10 ] Riches are thine and all glory. Palaces rich without number. Poets shall sing of thy story. When down in the dust thou dost slumber. Only our love can we give thee. The tears in our eyes that well over. Going alone to death's mystery, Take there the heart of each lover. Take thou the love of all living Down in the tomb with thee, dying. Life with our love we are giving To thee, so silently lying. [ 11 ] SONNETS OF A LOVER LOVE LINGERS Can love be lingering, far away, too late To catch the perfume of the bursting flowers? Can love forget, through summer's burning hours. To seek the heart allotted it by fate? And must the heart that longs in patience wait, While blossoms bloom and fade amid their bowers. While on its uncrowned brow the rose tree showers Its soft, sweet petals to a crown create? Haste, love — for autumn steals across the hills, Nearer and nearer with each ruddy eve. And autumn's mist the valley deeper fills, And the lone flowers for all their lost ones grieve — And listen to the singing of the rills Ere winter's frost their voice to silence chills. WAITING They tell us "All things come to him who waits." Have I not waited, love, in patience long? Have I not listened for thy far-off song And sat in silence at thy frowning gates? The lights go, one by one; my spirit hates The dark and cold, yet still my love is strong. [ 15 ] I see thy lovers through thy palace throng, While I without lie bound by cruel fates. Oh love, look down! Oh summon me to thee! My feet are eager and my soul would fly. I only wait because thy last command Bade me abide; but soon my soul must die, For with thee only life and love can be, And here I sit, an outcast from love's land. MY FLOWER I CARE not what the world may say, sweet flower; I found thee in thy barren garden bed. O'er thee the biting winter winds had sped, And sunshine faded in a single hour. I cannot see thy tinted blossoms cower. Hide not beneath the withered leaves thy head, Thrice blessed fate that here my steps have led. I'll make thy desolation beauty's bower. Come, sun; come, shower; drop, gentle dew, from heaven ; Blow lightly, wind; fall softly, blessed night. To them who mourn a hope at last is given, To me in darkness cometh perfect light. In yon bright sun that bathes our world in gold. Let all thy jewelled heart to love unfold. [ 16 ] ERE FALLETH DARK THE NIGHT Heart of my heart, grown dearer with the hours. Doubt me not now — I could not bear thy doubt. The world has lost for me all other flowers, They blossom in some barren land without. But in my heart I hold thee, perfect bloom, Born in the northern summer of an hour. Filling my longing soul with a perfume That never breathed for me from earthly flower. Thou art the glory of my world, its sun. Late rising, bright with splendor, from its I'est. The shades may fall upon my day begun, Alas too soon, but still the golden west Will show thy glory, and I bless the light That shines from thee ere falleth dark the night. DESPAIR Ah, God, that one short hour should end our day And leave us only night and night's despair. The hour of joy that fled was all too rare And now in bitter tears has passed away. No more I '11 see the golden sunlight play Among the shining glories of thy hair, [ 1'^ ] Nor watch thy face, ever divinely fair, And in thine ear a lover's pleadings say. I may not meet thee in the listless years, Lest my wan face thy little joy might mar. Keep thou my memory with thine unshed tears, Where all thy dearest memories garnered are. And I, as one who far-off music hears, Will wait thee, as one waits the morning star. RENUNCIATION With love I bought thee, yet I give thee back. Yielding to fate — for who can dare its might? — And go my way, where dwelleth endless night, Where men the light of love forever lack. Lost in the raving storm's bewildering wrack, I vanish, evermore from mortal sight. Vanquished and wounded in the unequal fight And, bleeding, hide along life's lowliest track. I '11 watch thee as thy days more happy grow, I'll see thee ringed with friends, I'll hear thee laugh I '11 faint and fail beneath the deadly blow And, thirsting, sorrow's draught of sorrow quaff. Thou must not search the world, thou must not knoT\ Where I am hiding in my hopeless woe. [ 18 ] GOOD-BYE Good-bye, good-bye, alas my voice is faint. I fail, I tremble, weak with love for thee; Yet through thine eyes my way I dimly see. Trod by the bleeding feet of many a saint. For what is love lost here, through life's constraint. Beside the years of long eternity .f* What we miss now then brighter still may be, Nor ever heart, there, make its sad complaint. And if this be but idle thought of mine. If life be all and death sweet love destroy, Still be thou brave: the nearer to divine Man comes on earth, the less his passions cloy; When sorrow's fires the ore of life refine. Nearest the mortal comes to immortal joy. LONGING And still for thee, oh love, in vain I long. Nor ever may I rest, like bird at sea. Fleeing the endless waters under me, Yet striving still upon hope's pinion strong To reach the fair, green fields, where I belong. But all in vain, for ever, wearily, [ 19 ] I sink in sorrow, though I fain would flee The cruel waves that ever nearer throng. Nor ever may I rest till there I come Where thou dost dwell. Here winter storms do beat. The cold, gray sky above doth colder grow. The mist lies thick around me, yet my home. My place of rest, down at thy gentle feet, Calleth me, "Come! Nor ever longer roam." THE WANDERER I AM a wanderer on a moorland bleak, I am a mariner lost upon the sea; No headland light of hope can gleam for me. Nor far, faint bell can rescue ever speak. Wandering, cast out by love, I may not seek Thy shelter, though the wild storm cover me; Counted among thy friends I cannot be, Nor on the arms that hold thee vengeance wreak. Outcast from thee! Cast out, O God! from all That makes life blessed, yet to life I cling. While thou art on the earth I may not fall, But oft a hopeless hope my heart doth wring. Thwarted, bereft, love's maimed and tortured thrall. Wearily, o'er the world waste, wandering. [ 20 ] LIKE FOOLISH CHILDREN Like foolish children, crying for the moon, No tears can bring love low into our lap. Nor fortunate fate will ever to us hap. Nor day come when we cry, "It falleth soon." But would it be to us a royal boon? Could love endure that burneth leaf and sap? Could love live on and all our lifeblood lap. Like ghastly werewolf in some ancient rune? Burn out, oh fire of love, the life of youth. Burn till age shows the embers here and there, But leave a lingering love, a glow of ruth. Like sparks that flit and lose each other; spare One tiny spark, lest only black despair Brood o'er the ashes of love once so fair. [ 21 ] LYRICS CLOUDLAND I DWELL within a city old Whose lofty walls shut out the light, And everywhere, by day and night, Dark towers and spires rise grim and cold. No country have I but the sky; There mountains tower, there rivers run, And boundless seas glint in the sun And golden islands in them lie. Are these the "islands of the blest," The famed Hesperides of old. Where hang the apples, red as gold. Gleaming against the golden west? No galleon sails that silent sea. No gallant souls its depths explore. Nor ripple breaks against its shore. And all beyond is mystery. THE MARSHES Brown salt marshes, reaching to the sea; Dun grass, dry grass, wind-swept and wan; Autumn tides, winter tides that drive the waters on; Rising tides, ebbing tides, fighting to be free. [ 25 ] Green salt marshes, where the wild fowl nest, Emerald green as upland field, where the farmers plow. Ever higher, ever ranker yet your grasses grow, Summer time is coming when we love you first and best. Green growing red, like a life's blood shed, Meadows flushing deeper like the crimson cheek of shame, Like a warrior burning in a pyre of ruddy flame, Till ye die and wind-swept lie, down among the dead. Hear the marsh hen crooning amid the swaying grass, See the waters, creeping, creeping, purple, blue, and green; Night is on the marshes, nothing can be seen, Seasons come and days come and nights as swiftly pass. Life and death for the marshes, life and death for me; Glittering bright in the setting sun, orange, red, and gold. Brown and bare as a soul's despair, when the au- tumn nights grow cold. We must lie, when the years go by, like the marshes down by the sea. [ 26 ] ^OLIAN O HARP iEolian, dear to me is the music of thy golden strings; High aloft I set thee, long ago, in the window of my tower. Where to the hillside steep, mossgrown and olden, it clings. Like a thing of bygone ages, above my forest bower. As through the trembling strings the sobbing wind sweeps slowly. Soft are thy notes, like music far off, in dreams of the night; Louder when rises the gale, then fading, faintly and lowly, Till in the silence they die, as the last sad note takes flight. Sweet to me in the darkness, all alone, as the gentle breeze Sings a song of sadness and love lost and never found. Till the moon rises glimmering through the dark leaves of the trees, And a louder theme reechoes as you fill the air with sound. [ 27 ] When the wild stormcloud grows darker and hid is the glaring day, And the world seems lost forever in the might of a baleful night, No longer, with gentle touch, on your golden strings you play, But burst into wildest music, till the heart beats fast with delight. You sing of war's desolation and the host of demons dire. The wild erlking who rides apace through the path of the stormy night. Lit for a moment by flashes of the lightning's livid fire. Then vanishing swift in the blackness and lost to the eager sight. Thy golden strands shriek loudly, like a lost soul in its pain. The roll of the thunder clasping close with the roll of thine awesome sound, The lightning flashing faster gives glimpse of the world again, And then the visions vanish and stilled is the air around. No sound breaks that perfect silence and hopes in the silence die. And tears come silently stealing down cheeks that dread has paled, [ 28 ] And the soul sinks down despairing where the souls of the lost ones lie, And the sorrow of ages falls on it, the sorrow of them that have failed. Then soft as the touch of a mother's hand that strokes a golden head. Soft as the sigh of contentment that comes to the soul at peace, Sweet as the memories left by the loved ones lost and dead. Comes thy music again, so softly — then thy notes in silence cease. SKYSCRAPERS Ye modern palaces of pelf. Immense and sombre, tall and fine. Imperial arrogance, pride of self. Shutting the sky out, line on line Against the narrow slit of blue Where clouds in fleeces float by day. Where stars, unwinking, faint and few. Cross o'er the night and speed their way. A thousand windows letting light In on the toiling souls who sit [ 29 ] Day-long until the coming night, When, like the birds, they homeward flit; Or blazing through the dark ye gleam, Like myriad sparkling stars, bound fast In iron bonds, whose bright rays stream Out to the night like diamonds cast. How ugly yet how wonderful These "Towers of Babel" we have built; Digging foundations deep we pull From old earth's depths her stone and silt And build with steel, higher each day, These wondrous, heaven-defying walls That shade the ever-travelled way Through which the wearied footstep falls. Pure white and soft as foam of sea The Parthenon in ruin stands. Showing what builders men could be Ages ago in distant lands. There beauty reigned; our god is Gold, Not cast in golden statues high, Whose worshippers told stories old That near the heart of nature lie. No ancient wisdom builded you ! Tombs for our chained souls are ye, Where buried lie hearts fresh and true From whose dense shade bright hope doth flee; [ 30 ] Where clink of gold and rustle soft Of bonds and notes one hears alway; Where dark despair comes all too oft And maddening joy some rarest day. No splendid spires, sunlit at eve, No minarets to heaven ye raise, No romance for our souls ye weave, No stirring song of joy or praise. Temples of Mammon — God to-day — Fanes of our Baal, grim and bare; Old temples crumble, but ye stay, Busy with pelf, silent of prayer. THE GOD OF GUNS Thou art younger than the Sun God, thou art mightier than Mars; Thou art Thor, the Hammer of the North, and Agni, Lord of Flame. On land and sea our leader be, in our victorious wars, And the God of Guns we'll call thee, though we may not know thy name. Thou art lord of seas and oceans, thou art lord of many hands. Sitting above thy battlements and on the tossing wave. [ 31 ] We have made thee in our wisdom with the labor of our hands. And we trust thee in the battle as the only power to save. Thou art merciless, thou art pitiless, O Monarch of the World; Thou slayest them whose youth is past and infants of a day. They all must wither at thy blast, when thy dread bolts are hurled, For thou dost rule by might alone and thou canst only slay. All nations claim thee for their own and pray to thee for aid. But thou art with the stoutest heart and with the wisest brain. Thou givest victory to them who greatest guns have made. And men who scorn to serve thee, unto them the fi ht is vain. With fire and flame we forge thee, with mighty ham- mer and drill. Born in the seething hiss of the molten metal's flow, [ 32 ] Shaped in the crashing throe of the forge's thundrous thrill, Child of the blinding glare and the white flame's deadly glow. God thou art from birth, in the light of shining suns, God thou art forever, and we call thee God of Guns. LITTLE THINGS There are little things to which one clings That never are bought or sold. Yet we store them away, day by day. As though they were gems or gold. There are days we knew, when the skies were blue, Yea bluer than skies may be. When each breath we drew did our souls renew In a blessed ecstasy. There is many a word, but a moment heard, That forever rings in our ears; There are notes of song that forever belong To the stores of the vanished years. [ 33 ] PIONEERS We are they who strive alway, Restless, resistless, untiring; Ever mad with a joy that's sad Before the east wind flying. Sweeping the sea to a land to be. Born ever and ever dying, We plant our light on the last found height. Faint with delight and crying; *'We fall, we die; with our latest sigh Still ever but this desiring. In death, as the best, to drift to the west, Where the gold of the sun is lying." Lands that lie 'neath the western sky. Can ye close your gates denying.? For we are they who go our way. The strength of the age supplying. We are they who mould the day. For the new forever sighing. Let coward souls and creeping fools Plod on in the homes they cherish; We are they who face the fray And rush to the west till we perish. [ 34 ] SUNSET Now golden mists in silence drift Across the distant, purple sea. And golden haze seems all ablaze. Shrouding the west in mystery. The gold has fled and deeper red Fills all the background of the west. With blood-stain0d weeds for daylight dead And all the vanquished hours of rest. Wave your dread flag, ye clouds that drag Your fleeing armies down the sky. Rent into rags by beetling crags. As ye dissolve in night and die. A MOTHER'S QUESTION Whence comest thou, oh son, to me? Was it down from a star, afar, afar. Or up from the depths of a lonely sea, Where only the faintest star worlds are? Art thou mine, art thou wholly mine. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.f^ Or an alien spark, immortal, divine, And never my very own? [ 35 ] May I not claim thee, my own sweet one? Binding thy soul is there never a tie To the soul of thy mother, my little son. As close in my arms thy soft limbs lie? Why so silent, why so sad? Why dost thou gaze so far away? Hast thou sped from a life where life was glad To enter this prison of human clay? Out of the star dust of souls to me Thou comest, clothed in the flesh I gave; Out of the infinite, silent sea That lies, unfathomed, beyond the grave. FLOWERS OF THE BARREN FIELDS Flowers of the barren fields we still must tread. Far scattered, faint in perfume yet so fair. Cherished a while till all your loveliness rare Fades as ye hang, all scentless, brown and dead; Wild rose that flaunts its softly tinted head. Wild blossoms glinting in the dusty glare. Shedding your scarlet leaves without a care. As though o'er all the turf some wounded heart had bled; Flowers of the barren fields, lift up your head. Ye crimson roses and ye lilies fair, [ 36 ] Ye lowly violets, scenting all the air, Bright blooms of earth, prismatic, blushing red, Or white, or Orient gold, rare treasure captive led By spring and summer, conquerors strong, who dare To trample on dark winter's fields, all bare, Leaving behind sweet blossoms 'neath their prancing coursers' tread. In the wild gardens of the world there grow, Amid the tangled beds of man's despair, Hidden by wood and thorn, but blooming there. The same sweet flowers that long ago did blow; What time the Gardener ranged their perfect row And set them out in spaces wide and fair, And willed that men should love their beauty rare. And call them by the dear old names we know. Flowers of the autumn, brave, defying death, Yet destined to go down among the dead. Strewing the earth whence summer's sun has fled At the first voice of winter and his breath. Long must ye lie the sheeted snow beneath. Where now ye scatter, sad, your petals red. When o'er them all the snow hath requiem said. To mark your grave, like a sad lover's wreath. Flowers of the sky, all golden and begilt With sunbeams as ye quiver in the air That blows, free, o'er the fields, beyond the care Of man, drops of bright golden metal spilt [ 37 ] By unknown hand, yet doomed to droop and wilt And wither in the autumn's biting air And die in loneliness and mute despair. Like fallen angels beauteous in your guilt, Just for an hour ye are so passing fair. Ranged in the garden, proud, in high parade. In all the colors of the earth arrayed, To the rapt eyes and busy hands that care; But to the hearts that cried to heaven to spare The human flowers they clung to, wept and prayed, Yet saw them, like the blossoms, silent laid Beneath the earth, ye only bring despair. THE ISLAND ON THE BAR I DWELL upon the margin of the sea, Distant, mysterious, wrapped so oft in mist. The far horizon ever calls to me With sweet, faint voice as silently I list. The waves are ever breaking on the beach, The clouds o'erhead like fleeces swiftly fly; There is no voice but theirs, no sounding speech. Save the white sea gull's chattering cry. Far, far away there lies an island green. Seen through the mist, and palaces of gold [ 38 ] To which I gaze in wonder, half unseen, Their story all unknown and all untold. " 'T is but an island village, ruined now," They tell me. " Come and see your fairy halls." But in my heart I shrink, for then I know My blessed vision into ruin falls. I care not be they fishers' huts, time-worn; To me they glitter in the setting sun. Why from my soul should the dear faith be torn Like childhood's fables, vanished one by one.? Leave me my vision, for the real and true Can never bring the beauty, ever fair. The glow in sunset that the days renew, My fairy village, seen through misty air. A WISH Give me, oh blessed sleep, some happy dreams; Let me live one brief hour free from care. Waft me upon thy filmy, purple wings Far from the life of day and day's despair. Bring to my ear the murmuring mountain streams; Let me breathe deep the wine of mountain air, While in my ear some perfect singer sings And over me the sky is ever fair. [ 39 ] APART Apart forever, over wind-swept spaces, Over the tossing billows of the sea. Over the mountain range where clouds run races, Over the fields and fells where toilers be, Across a wilderness of forest waving, Past the dim swamp, the river's sluggish flow. Ever my heart to thee goes, vainly craving A single word, a glance I long to know. Forever separate, forever sundered. Can fate find doom no better for my heart, Can chance for once with careless dice have blundered And cast our lots so hopelessly apart. Ah ! Hope, thou light ray to the soul that sorrows. Speed through the ether, bring me joy again. Ere I shall die of endless, waiting morrows And perish with a heart thrust through with pain. IN MEMORIAM Shall we pass on saying, "He 's gone," then, sadly laying Down in the earth what's left of him. Shall we turn away and forget.? [ 40 ] So he 's gone in his power, Faded in youth Hke a flower, Plucked a moment and withered. But his fragrance Hngereth yet. Still the praise of his living, Still the deeds of his kindness Flash on our memory, giving But sorrow and shame for our blindness. Leaving his life unfinished.? Is, then, its beauty diminished? Call we the flower blighted That only blooms for a day? God has gathered his garland Of flowers that the passer slighted. Short though his life, it is finished, And the Gardener has borne him away. MATER DOLOROSA. I We torture thee, O Mother Nature dear, Knowing thy heart, that beats in every heart. Feels of each pang the bitter, burning smart. And yet could make the mystery, plain and clear. We claim it, we must know, we are so near — Just on the verge of the all-powerful word; Its whisper is around us, we have heard Its echo: "Give the answer now and here!" Thou wilt not? See the many weary rounds [ 41 ] We've climbed already, how life longer grows; But ever in our ear some voice resounds: "Ye gain a day, but after, no man knows." Dost thou hold back because thy secret dread, Revealed, would leave us blasted, stark, and dead? We see thy face contorted, racked with pain; We see the limbs we bind trembling with fear; We search, thy secret now we come so near That we no longer will in doubt remain. Tell us, O Queen of Life, we dare, we claim. Can we death conquer? Can we learn the way? Is there for man, if he but knew, a day Of endless pleasure in a deathless frame? Or is disease only a shorter road, A blessing with a frown upon its face, A speedier, happier ending of the race That still must end in death's forlorn abode? And is thy silence, if we did but know. Only thy kindness, hiding endless woe? MATER DOLOROSA. II That we may gain a day must these endure Ages of woe? For time is lost in pain. Nor may we calmly count, in numbers sure. Their bitter agony that brings us gain. Nor dare we say they writhe no longer than We joy in living out the hours they pay. [ 42 ] For pain is measureless; the life of man Seems but a moment when 't is passed away. His transient pleasures are a fleeting breath, And longer than his life, in longest span, To these poor things, their agony of death. For life is vanity; its squandered years Dissolve and leave no heritage but sighs. And if we gain not, if the smiles and tears For which we strove be an illusive prize, An apple of life's desert, Sodom's flower, That into ashes in the grasping flies. Then have the gentle creatures in our power Given in vain a life that nothing buys Even for us, their masters, and we stand Pitiless, beneath the world's unbending skies, Bearing upon our brows Cain's livid brand. THE PREACHER I SAID of laughter, it is mad, For all the world is filled with tears. How can ye laugh? No heart is glad. But for a moment, in its years. I said of pleasure, it is bare; The morrow sadly dawns and cloud Broods over all the places where, In days gone by, we laughed aloud. [ *3 ] I said of friendship, it is vain; Friends fall away as we grow old. Yea, in their homes my soul is slain By hearts I loved, whose love grew cold. But if ye take away our mirth, Rob life of pleasure if there be, And hold our friendships nothing worth, My soul would mourn exceedingly. ALL THINGS ARE IN THE SEA All things are in the sea. The sunlight bright, the moonlight white. White foam and colors rare and wondrous blue are there. Sapphire and emerald and rosy tints empearled. Colors that never faded be — all these are in the sea. Amber is in the sea. Torn from its hidden bed, and coral stems, blood-red. And pearls and twisted shells, whose battered beauty tells Of storm and stress below, where sand lies wreathed like snow Round blooming beds of sea anemone — all these are in the sea. [ 44 ] All things are in the sea. There richest beauty lies, fathoms beneath our eyes, In treasure ships, storm-tossed, great golden galleons lost. And sometimes on the land, ocean with mighty hand Casts stores of ancient jewelry — all these are in the sea. Strange things are in the sea. Mermaids are there with tawny hair, Sea serpents creep, great fishes leap, The storm clouds rise, the mermaid cries: "Soon they will be with me at rest beneath the sea." And hope lies in the sea. Far down, in fathomless deep, our dear ones sleep. Dreamless, forever lost, their white arms toss'd By every tide, while o'er we ride In great ships, sailing free, over the lost at sea. [ 45 ] DREAM VERSE THE SONG OF THE NIGHT Who has heard the song of the night, The sweet, sad song that the lone soul hears? The trembling notes in the vanished light That fade to silence, like long-lost years; That cry for the light of a sun gone down. For the fading glow where it lingers still In the western sky, past the mountain's crown. On the purple woodland below the hill. A wordless song still lingering long, A low, sweet song where soft sighs throng; The tears that fall, the lost who call. Long dead and stark, out from the dark; The sighs that steep from souls asleep. The calm, low note of joys that float Up from the world, in melodies curled Like smoke wreaths, fringed, with rose tints tinged. Wrought like lace o'er the moon's pale face. While the stars shine through like sparks of dew, In the light of the sun when day 's begun, And bright rays pass o'er the morning grass. A sad, sweet song, when memories throng; Murmurs that creep from hearts that weep [ 49 ] While the cool wind blows, the still stream flows; The world of life with its rustlings rife. The leaves that sway this way, that way. The cheep of a bird in the tree-top heard. The creeping things, the fluttering wings. The beating of breath 'gainst the bars of death — All these combine and their sounds entwine A song to make, till the day doth break. DREAMS Each night I lie lost in a drift of dreams, With closed eyes my soul goes forth in sleep. I lose the mirage of the earth and leap Into a stranger world that fainter seems. Yet to my soul familiar; hills and streams And valleys soft and green and oceans deep. And men and women. 'T is a home I keep Only in dreamland and its fleeting gleams. Which is the real, which is the old, the new.? Is life a vision and my dream the true? Are all the thronging faces of the night Fantastic fantoms of my tired brain .^^ Can busy life be wrong and sleep be right. Will only dreamland, when we die, remain.? [ 50 ] DREAMS Over the couch of the sleeper Hovers the angel of dreams. Strewing her gifts like blossoms Down on the souls that sleep. To the weary she givetli an hour of rest, An hour when a faint hope gleams, And peace to the heart of the sorrowing And joy to the souls that weep. This is the task of the angel — To give to the soul that mourns A vision brief of a blest relief From a world of toil and tears. To bring fruition to hope deferred. To sow in the soul that fears Courage again to bear its pain Through the life of the coming years. IN DREAMS Who would awake could he have his wish And come back to the dismal earth? Who would descend from a golden throne To the hovel that saw his birth? Who would leave his oasis fair [ 51 ] And lie on the desert sand. Or wake to die at the cannon's mouth, Though his death be brave and grand? Dream, ye weary, happy dreams And never awake from sleep. With smiling lips go down to death And in dreamland your visions keep. Slipping from life to the world of dreams And finding it real and true With riches and friends that are close and dear And love ever waiting for you. Sleep, ye dreamers of happy dreams; Wake no more to the painful day. Hold fast to the life ye live in dreams And rapt in it float away. Mayhap the dreaming will never end And that wonderful world you see Will be life, your life to live and spend, In an endless eternity. For the world must go one day, we know, And its atoms dissolve in mist. And the thing that will last is not the past Or the things that now exist; For the real eludes, and illusion's dream May be only the real and true, And dreams and dreaming may be the world That is waiting forever for you. [ 52 ] DEATH AND DREAMS When we *re asleep we never start and say, "To-morrow we will wake and live with men," Contrasting the fantastic now with then. When the sun rises and brings back the day. We never know we sleep, but blithe and gay We drift to loving arms beyond our ken. And revel in the teeming thoughts we pen All day within our hearts and hide away. For in the land of dreams we have our will. No tyrant stays us and no laggard feet Refuse to bear us, but on wings of fire We fly where'er we wish, when all is still. All hearts we love we summon and we greet, Claiming fruition of long-hid desire. DEATH Ye call me death, but my name is sleep. Death is the sleep of the soul that lies Worn with struggle and longs to creep Into the dark with wearied eyes. Life is a dream of visions fair. Love is the light of a dream that flies, [ 53 ] Then cometh sorrow and pain and care; But all these fade from the soul that dies. Out in the darkness or out in the light, What will it matter? The world's despair Goes on its way, be it dull or bright. It will not matter, we '11 not be there. DRIFTING TO SLEEP Drifting to sleep as to a mimic death, The world forgotten, lulled in Orient balm. With pillowed head, closed eyes and nerveless arm. And calmly drawn and slowly measured breath. How like to death. Across yon purple heath See the white headstones, bright against the green, Beneath which rest in peace, now all unseen, The brows that earned no victor's laurel wreath. No pain is theirs. To-morrow we awake And from our beds rise up refreshed for toil; But they can never off their slumbers shake Or burst, with straining arms, the enshrouding soil. Yet both are lost to day and work and light. We in a brief, they in eternal, night. [ 54 ] DREAMS AND DEATH Out of their fulness ever giving Shadow and substance of days to be. Whispering softly to all the living What the life of the dead may be. Sleep and the silken night that falleth, - Life and action and cruel war. Voice of the past that softly calleth. Low, sweet voice that comes from afar, There forever resteth a silence, There is a silent welling of tears. There forever there is quiet And no man counteth the years. There broodeth ever the night that covers. Day and morning dawn not any more. And over the stillness of silence hovers The dream of a life we lived before. On through the measureless spaces There drifteth a vision of dreams, Whereof none knoweth the places And nought may be what it seems. [ 55 ] There no work may be doing, Nor ever may weariness come, Never pursued nor pursuing, For the soul is at rest in its home. THE VISION When the still hours of night did close enfold. And all my light of life went out in sleep. The soul of her I lost stole from the deep And seemed strange converse with my soul to hold. I knew her not when first she came, the gold Of many sunsets seemed her hair to steep, Her cheeks were rose-red, and time seemed to sweep Away the years that had so slowly rolled. Her beauty shone, like radiant dawn of day. Enfolding her in robes of light; her eyes Shot on my dreaming sense a blinding ray As, roused, I gazed on her in mute surprise. "Did I but lose thee, love, but yesterday.'* And doth the soul grow glorious when it dies?" Oh love, I seem a little thing to be, I who looked down upon thee in my pride. I thought thee lost forever: thou hadst died, And all my life would drag but wearily; But now I kneel before thee, for I see Thou art more fair than all the world beside. [ 56 ] Fairer but yet the same. Thou canst not hide, 'Neath radiant glory the heart dear to me. The same, yet not the same; these are the eyes I gazed in, seeking love to find, so oft. Life-long they gave me back love glances soft; Now they look down on me in stern surprise, And all my soul shrinks at their cruel gleam. "Who art thou.'*" And I waken from my dream. SPRING, LOVE, AND DEATH The world was cold, the world was dark, No zephyr stirred across the sky. But storm clouds rolled and snow lay stark Upon the fields that silent lie. When in a dream spring came to me. Twined in her hair were blossoms sweet, And in her eyes the balm for care, And grasses swayed beneath her feet; And then I cried with opening eyes, "Oh spring, forever here remain Under thy blue unclouded skies. Nor ever hide thy face again." And life was fair and life was sweet With all its stir and busy din, I loved my fellows and my feet Through all its ways ran, eager, in, [ 57 ] When love came to me in my sleep And love bent down to me in dreams With arms that twine and lips that steep The soul in joy's bewildering streams. And when I woke my heart was dull With heavy pain, as sad I lie, " I would none else, though life be full. Give me but love or let me die." And life was sad and dull and worn, And feebly fell the step of age. Love's gilding from the world was torn. And spent was all youth's joyous rage. Then in a dream death came to me. His eyes were kind, his voice was low. Calm stole across life's stormy sea And softly faded evening's glow. And when I woke — or was it all A blessed dream, this peace and rest? — I seemed to reach to him and call: "Take me forever to thy breast." LEAD ME, OH LEAD ME Lead me, oh lead me by the hand, Oh love, where fancies call. Lead me into thy blessed land Where golden shadows fall [ 58 ] Through shining leaves and boughs that bend; Where ever gently laps the wave On grass-edged shore; where soft descend Pale petals from the rose flowers pale. Red petals from the blood-red rose; Where eyes may speak, though lips be still; Where life is lost, but love is found; Where only they live on who will, And dreamers tread the solid ground. My locks are silvern, dim my eye, Life throbs no more in pulses beat. Under thy wintry cold I die, I wither in thy burning heat. But still I cry, oh love on high. Come to me ere I faint and die. Love crowned with rosy garlands sweet. [ 59 ] SONNETS ON PERSONS DICKENS Like eyes of God, thine eyes, in every place Saw all things, all the evil, all the good. The glad things and the sad, these were the food Stored in thy mind to amuse and bless our race; And all the humor found in life, with space For the grotesque, the quaint, the merry mood. Till armed with these, in valiant hardihood, Thou didst assail and rout each hid disgrace. The "red tape" of the law, the travesty Called "justice" in the courts, the private wrong Of greed and gluttony, the pious fakes. The pride of power and pelf, of ancestry. The heart of wronged childhood, crushed too long By cruel deeds until at last it breaks. EDGAR A. POE So few thy songs, yet on the inconstant air They linger where a thousand fade and die; For thine bring to our hearts the mingled cry Of wondrous melody and vast despair. Why do we cherish these few jewels rare, [ 63 ] Yet seek with rude and eager hand to pry Into the recess of thy heart and try Thy folhes — if thou hadst them — to lay bare? Rather come Ksten to those wondrous bells. These many years, within our souls, that ring. Thy music, written on immortal score. Still to the living world its message tells And weaves a fairy mist to which we cling And seek thee vainly, find thee — nevermore. WEIR MITCHELL Lest man might live forever, God's decree Barred him, a rival, from the Tree of Life. Thrice happy then he who through years of strife Reached to old age's calm serenity. We mourn him old, with youth's audacity. Young as the youngest — words with humor rife. Keen, often cutting, as the surgeon's knife. Thoughtful and kindest when most need might be. Old? did one count the years or mark the lines That time and warfare with disease did show? There were the records of full many a blow Dealt by hard fate, yet all so many signs That he had fought a battle nobly won. Poet, Novelist, Physician, all in one. [ 64 ] IN MEMORY OF CHARLES BATTELL LOOMIS With pale, wan face, o'erhanging brow, sad eyes Beneath, in which there lurked hid merriment; Deep lines of thought, where melancholy blent With rarest humor, innocent yet wise; This was the face we knew so well, which lies Silent at last in death's long banishment. Out of the real to mystery he went. To weave no more his fairy merchandise. Jester of Erin, subtle, but so rare Was thy rich humor that, quite unaware. The smile crept to our lips; yet all the while Beneath the childlike words that would beguile Was hid, for those who find, a meaning deep. Only the fairies know it — he's asleep. ANDREE 1 Drift on thy silken wings into the night, Last born of heroes, on thy high emprise. Making thy lonely way through unknown skies To the far pole beneath the northern light. We from afar can fancy, small and bright, 1 Salomon-Auguste Andree, lost in his balloon voyage to the North Pole in 1897. [ 65 ] Thy gleaming boat as through the heaven it flies; But weary days go by and still our eyes Gaze up through tears that ever dim their sight. Come back! Come back! The world to crown thee waits ! Come back and all the bells shall welcome ring. The earth shall meet thee at her outer gates, And in thy praise her loudest psean sing. But still the empty wind sweeps on its way, And in our hearts we sigh, "Andree, Andree." TO A DEAD HUMORIST Sleep peacefully, thy dream of life is o'er. Can laughter echo from the voiceless space.? Can listeners smile — souls of immortal race — Where thou art dwelling on some starlit shore? What if the hosts of them who have gone before. In saddest moments, feel, perchance, the grace Of gentle humor, may they not embrace Thee as their harbinger of mirth once more.? Or if with gnomes and elves thou hast gone to dwell. In the gemmed caverns underneath the ground, Then will the bursts of laughter louder swell As merry days and years fly swiftly round. There store thy mind with wonders, to be told Again on earth when centuries have rolled. [ 66 ] SONNETS THE SOUL MOTH Soul, thou hast lived thy Ufe and now the hours Of thy brief day move swiftly to the night, And shadows fall and things once fair and bright Fade, as at evening fades the bloom of flowers. And night is dark; thy trembling spirit cowers And fears assail and dreads unknown affright. Shalt thou live on, or shall death's coming blight Thy little life? Perchance sad death o'erpowers The puny force that made thee move and live Thy little span, till, like the moth whose flight Through darkness ever tends to that one beam That shines for it and joy to it doth give. Thou too wilt be consumed in some dread light And fall, forever quenched, a vanished dream. SPRING'S ADVENT Lo! dwellers in the town, the spring has come. Ye cannot see it, nor the daisy bloom That shakes in silvery sheen above the gloom Of the green fields, unless afar ye roam And pluck the golden flowers that sparkle bright, Like gleaming stars in skies of emerald green; [ 69 ] Or seek the pale blue violet, hid between The dark, dead leaves and all the glowing might Of blossoming weeds that glory in their power. As over the reluctant earth they rise And toss in every passing breeze that blows. Their time has come and this, their one bright hour \Mien free, they gaze in triumph to the skies That bend above and bless each opening flower. trailinXt arbutus Canst thou not know what time the arbutus flower. Deep in the woods, hides midst the moss its bloom, 'Neath the dead leaves that tell of winter's gloom, That thou art harbinger of spring's glad hour, \Mien the bright sun doth at the last o'erpower The wintry clouds? Thou art the spring's bride- groom. No longer, faint of heart, in darkness cower. Burst from thy bonds; trail o'er the melting snow That fast would hold thee with its fingers cold. Thou art our herald, and thy tiny spray, ^Yhen first we find it, brings the ruddy glow To faces pale and weary, spent and old. That thought no more to see spring's happy day. [ ~o ] ASPIRATION When thou hast gained the meed of thy desire, And thy heart fills with gladness and thine eyes Wander in joy over the long-sought prize, And full fruition slakes life's eager fire, Then rest not there, but ever look the higher. Lose not thy aspirations. Life denies Only to him who asks not, and the skies Smile on him though the very heaven he tire With urgent pleading and with ceaseless prayer. Love what thou hast, nor yet let love ensnare All of thy being. On the golden stair Are many rounds; so far aloft they rise That in the distance to thy mortal eyes They blend with regions rare where heaven lies. LIFE All day they climbed the steep and rocky hill. When first they started, on the grass the dew Hung like bright diamonds by the sun shot through. Which he who would might steal at his sweet will. Then, when the blazing sun the world would fill With fiery splendor, stricken through and through. They stumbled blindly on; but to renew Their flagging spirits came the night's sweet chill. [ Ti ] Hope cheered them through the day: "The top is near; There ye may rest upon the cool, soft grass And quaff in peace the gods' sweet Hippocras.'* But lo! Upon the summit sharp rocks rear And fate, relentless, points where they must go, Down in death's mist that fills the vale below. OUR PLACE Tell us, O Power Divine, whose very name We may not know, nor yet thy dwelling place, Whence came we, men of fleeting, mortal race. Who call thee God and Thy protection claim? Tell us whence in Thy universe we came. Out of the nothingness unto our birth? Is this the centre of Thy care, this earth? Can Thine eyes see it through their bhnding flame? Across Thy sky sweep ever endless stars; They move in rhythmic order on through space. The notes of their. vast music's endless bars. Each star a note, though no man knows its place. Are we the jarring discord rude that mars The song of all Thy hosts with our disgrace? [ 72 ] IMMORTALITY The butterfly that bursts its prison wall, Rending its rude cocoon, and speeds away On painted wing out to the blessed day An emblem of the risen soul we call. 'T is but one emblem. Nature holds them all Up to our vision, as though she would say: "See how all life around you would allay. Were ye but bold, the fears your souls enthrall." For life is endless in its form and time And changes as the seasons come and wane. Like words that jingle oft in many a rhyme And then in prose march slowly, proud and plain. Still the words live, though oft they seem to climb Up to the skies, then to the depths again. LIKE FLOWERS THAT DIE And must we perish Uke the flowers that die, Living one hour of sunHght and perfume, Then passing to the dark and silent tomb Where all things that have lived are doomed to lie.^ Must only perfume linger like a sigh Upon the air a moment, ere the gloom Settles upon us and within our room, [ 73 ] Our garden, under our bright summer sky, Must others whom we know not take our place And bloom in the bright gardens of our land. Then wither, till the last of their proud race, Alone, among the fallen, mournful, stand? May we not hope that by some Gardener's care. Transplanted we may bloom in purer air? WAR My love unto my sad heart bent and said: "I bid thee go nor heed my foolish fears. My soul is rent, alas, with many fears And I have dreamed, thrice dreamed, of thee as dead. But go thou ! In my pride my fears have fled. I '11 wait thee, though the months speed into years; I '11 tell thee some day, when no mortal hears. The words for which my very soul has bled." "Love," it is love I'll whisper in thine ear, "Love," it is love I'll whisper when you come. Love that has waited long to welcome home, Love that has risen in glory o'er my fear. And love, if light go out, love will I sing Above thy grave, the last, sweet flower I bring. Love will I murmur in the still, sad night. Love will I sing throughout the weary day, [ 1^ ] Love for my warrior, victor in the fight, Love for the clouds and fears that fled away. And love, love will I sing, though all my light Fades with the flowers that on thy grave I lay. WE ARE ONE Come sit beside me. Let the years go by In envious silence as our joys they see, While with each hour I grow more near to thee. Nor count the days as over us they fly; For I can have thee only till I die. Or till death takes thee far away from me. And so I pray, making my fervent plea That we together at the last may lie. I would not will to live if thou wert gone, I could not see the sun shine in yon sky, I could not watch the flowers spring and grow When my one flower had faded. Earth might glow Brighter with beauty, but my soul would cry: "Be kind, O Death, remember we are one." II Shall I reach out, under the cool, green grass, My longing arms to find thee? Shall we know How close we are, down in the dust below The busy feet of men who pause or pass? [ '^s ] How can I lose thee? Lonely life, alas, Is but a death in living. Could I go Out to the realm of death alone; can woe Ever be worse than that? As in a glass I seem to see the future without thee: Eons of bitter years that come and go, So many phantoms that will ever flee, While I pursue my lost Eurydice, Only to find no loving face I know In all the throngs of vast eternity. LIKE WHIRLING DUST my God, make them like the whirling dust. — Psalm 83 As 'neath the tread of many feet. The tramp of horse, the surging crowds, The wind sweeps down the dusty street And whirls the dust in noisome clouds. So may our enemies be, O Lord, Like whirling dust before Thy sword; The sword that strikes for hearth and home. For freedom won through blood and flame; The sword that drips with bloody foam And slays the foemen in Thy name. As foes go down in field and town, Like grain the reaper moweth down, So let them be, for Thou art just. Like whirling dust — like whirling dust. [ 76 ] THE SONG OF THE CITY There 's a music hid in the undertones Of the Hfe that throbs in the busy street. Where over the rugged paving stones The shoes of iron forever beat. There's music in rumble of cart and car, There 's a note in the crash as a train goes by, One can catch the hum of a tune afar As it dashes over some archway high. And the voice of the Hving, the laugh, the curse. The cry of the vendor, the postman's tread. The slow, sad walk of the sombre hearse. The tramp of the feet that follow the dead. They beat the time on the city's air. They blend, they are life — yea, life and death; And the song of the city that's hidden there I find myself humming beneath my breath. And sometimes there comes a strain to lift My soul in joyance, when life is sweet. As sunshine falls through a black cloud's rift And gilds the dust of the dusty street. [ 77 ] Or a tune throbs out on the heavy air. That runs through the gamut of crash and groan; The long-drawn plaint of a vast despair. The wail of a soul in the crowd — alone. UNSUNG How many songs are still unsung That treasured lie in hearts unknown; When lips are mute, like bells unrung, Like some sea's half -heard undertone? How many songs come to the lips And die away? The joy is there, Or 't is a dirge that never slips Out to the world, killed by despair. How many singers sing their songs Where none can hear the music rare, Far from the praise of listening throngs, Lost on the unresponsive air? IF WE ONLY KNEW If we only knew our place. Are w^e little, are we big? Are we proudest in the race [ ^8 ] Of life's strange, fantastic jig, Taking up the foremost place? Tell us now, we beg your grace. Are we microbes in a tube, Or bacteria that swarm 'Neath some mighty eye that sees If the temperature be warm In His laboratory great? Answer ere it be too late. Are we gods, to live when death Comes and carries us away? Shall we live and love when breath Fails and mortal shapes decay? Answers this, ye preachers wise. Science answering, proudly rise. Is it cosmic dust that lies (All these stars and systems) cast On the threshold of the skies, But a portal to the vast, Endless regions that the eye Never nearer may descry? Are we puppets on the stage Of a world, to lull the soul Of some mighty power divine, While the endless eons roll; [ 79 ] Playing each our lotted part To amuse God's wearied heart? Answer us, ye men of might, In your world of science great. Answer us, ye preachers wise. Throned aloft in solemn state. Comes no answer to our call.'^ Ye know nothing, that is all. Are the worldlets, are the stars, Stretching white across the sky. In their infinite, gleaming bars, Places for us when we die? Is there One beyond who cares For us men and our affairs? Or is all the eye can reach. All the stars and all the space, Set, like sands upon the beach, Lost in some forgotten place. Left to struggle and to die While the eons still drift by? Are we but a fragment small Of a universe beyond; Just a corner, that is all, With our dreams and fancies fond. On the threshold? Are we dust? If 't is true, can God be just? [ 80 ] Or is chance our ruler great, Never giving us a thought, Minding not our love or hate. Leaving us alone — unsought? Answer this, O Science deep; Preacher wise, your silence keep. TO SWINBURNE Manhood leaps up to hear thy song; The tears of age have welled for thee; The years gone by have grown to be Living once more. Thy music strong Has swept sad peoples swift along, Singing the songs of liberty. Thy magic touch has made us see Time's bygone beauty; made the throng Of knights and kings and lovers dead Live once again; we feel their woes. Our hearts with love like theirs has bled; Our soul their struggle feels and knows. And for the gods, much hast thou wrought; So long time banished from our thought, Now in their grandeur, white, they stand, Wrought by the magic of thy hand. Give laurel wreath to whom you will, The pittance doled by royal hand. Seek scribblers through the rich wide land [ 81 ] And with your gold their purses fill. But his sweet lyre ye may not still; His music bears no tyrant's brand, But echoes down the ages grand And through the coming years will thrill SONG OF THE SHADES We are souls from the underworld Through the dimness floating. We are souls of the lost and dead. Whom the mourners mourned with low-bowed head And tears, their grief denoting. We feel no grief, we shed no tears. We know not why ye sorrow. We have no love and we have no hate, There is no early, there is no late. No yesterday, no to-morrow. Sometimes we stray at the close of day. When the wind o'er the world is blowing. We know ye are there, but we never care. We would not hurt and we would not spare, But ye know not what we are knowing. Why do ye tarry and toil and fret, For it all ends but in dying? [ 82 ] No day we await with weary heart, No lovers we have from whom to part, So we mind not the hours in their flying. There is nothing before and nothing behind, Nor must we be up and doing. We have no longing and no regret. Though sun be risen or sun be set. Nor mating nor ever wooing. For we are souls from the underworld. With every zephyr swaying. We have lost all joy and grief. Seek, oh ye living, for death's relief. And mourn for his feet delaying. THE MORNING STAR To him that overcometh ivill I give the morning star.'* To thee, oh morning star, set in the sky Like one lone diamond on the hand of night, I gaze in longing. Can I, when I die. Gain as my great reward thy gleaming light? What art thou but another world like this. Filled to the brim with sadness and despair. With toilers who the joy of life must miss. Whose prayers and cries of sorrow fill its air? [ 83 ] Or url tlioij l)uL ariollicr llir(>}>))iiig sun Lik(^ tlio fierce or!) UiaL })Iiruls us with its heat, W}jer(; noru^ rrwiy enL(;r ere liis nicx) is run, Repulsecl rroiii his ein})ra(;e, with flying feet? Art thou the htrid of j»Iory, heaveu we se(;k. Where' dwell the angels and (iod on His throne? Dost give this gift to us, not to the meek, While tliey inherit earth and earth alone? An