PS 3545 .H495 P6 1912 Copy 1 Class. Book._ Copyright N". U^'-; -3 :'. A. "C 3 ! Z. COBfRIGHT DEPOSrr POEMS SELDEN L. WHITCOMB RICHARD G. BADGER THE GORHAM PRESS BOSTON Copyright, 1912, by Selden L. Whitcomb All Rights Reserved The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. a. ©CI.A3a8334 'L,i^^ I CONTENTS Page The Maker 5 Lesson for the Day 7 Songs 8 Mid-Sea and Harbor 9 Cry of the Lyric Poets 9 The Call 10 The Rebuke 1 1 The Hour of Healing 12 Behind the Scenes I3 Stage Memomes 14 Art's Wide Domain 16 Spring Song 17 Kinship 18 On Wansfell Pike 19 The Katydid at Blea Tarn Cottage 20 A Day in France 21 In the New Hampshire Hills 23 Storm in Plymouth Harbor 25 Lester River Path 26 Roses of Everett 27 "Prairie and Sky Are Enough" 28 The Homesteader 29 "Slowly at Last" 31 "Rest Upon Me, Dusky Eyes" 32 Two Women 32 Invitations 33 The Avowal 35 The Appointed Hour 36 Intellectual Communion 37 "Every Song Within My Heart" 38 The Answer 39 By the Lily Beds 40 Ave Atque Vale 41 CONTENTS Page Homeward Flight 42 Man and Woman 43 The Night of Parting 44 Alone 45 "/ Dinna Ken" 46 Ebb and Flow 47 To-Day 48 The Unfulfilled 49 An Autumnal Dirge $0 A n Easter Creed 51 Song of a Brother 52 The Inheritance 53 Individuality 54 My Own 55 Challenge to the Quest 56 To the Outward-Bound 57 The Little Things 58 The Wanderer 59 The Search 60 To a Leader 61 The Waif -Dream 62 A Mood of the Gloaming 63 A Mood of the Morning 64 Comrades of Mine 65 "Working Together" 66 Twilight by the Mall 67 Insight 68 Three Visitors 69 The Common Day 'JO Homeward Bound 7' Cadences 72 Songs Before Death 73 The Final Choice 73 The Perfect Word 74 Harbor Song 75 THE MAKER My hope was high that two or three Among my fellow mortals Would brave their pilgrimage with me As far as the final portals. Long leagues have passed, and only one Toiled with me in the by-way, And with the yester-moming sun He sought the pleasant highway. I dreamed one soul through good and ill Would call me friend or master, But he has shown a traitor's will And faith has met disaster. I thought, to-day the sun will glow, To guerdon months of weeping. But here and there as on I go The clouds are ever creeping. Now rises in my soul the strength To be with God partaker. To follow this lone path whose length Leads to the Master Maker. n Once in the days of youthful pride I prayed in realms of mind and heart To travel boldly far and wide, To gather treasures for my art. Year after year responsive Fate Has scourged me over hill and shore, Has battered down the granite gate, Broken the bars of the iron door. O, wealth of folly, suffering, sin, Won from many a terrible land: Now I pray one hour wherein God will guide my shaping hand. LESSON FOR THE DAY No time for the lily and none for the rose, No time to watch how the apple-tree grows, Or to follow the lad as he garners or sows. No time for reverie, no time for rest, To linger in valley or climb to the crest, To welcome the warbler or search for the nest. No time in December and none in July To study the stars of our own native sky — No time for living and scarce time to die. No time for manners, for loving a friend, To speculate whither the pathway shall wend— Whether Nothing or Love awaits at the end. O poet, open the treasures of time. Be lavish of leisure, gay or sublime. Stay long in the silences, fashioning rhyme! SONGS Bom of the snow, of the summer, Born of the rain and the drouth; Born of each birdling new-comer Winging its way from the south. Sung by the wind, by the billows Beating the shuddering ship ; Sung by the blossoming willows Where honeybees hover and sip. Born from the faith, the believing Men were loyal, firm, unafraid — Born from the doubt, from the grieving Of thy soul abandoned, betrayed. Heard by the mounds in God's acre, Hiding the souls that were true; Heard in the will of our Maker Calling to me and to you. MID-SEA AND HARBOR Have ye fear then to sing of to-day, That ye sing only songs of the past? Does the dream of the sea's lonely way Mar the beauty where anchor is cast? Sing of life on the neighboring shore, Of the stir of the wharf and the street ; When the blasts of the mid-ocean roar Thy songs of the land shall be sweet ! CRY OF THE LYRIC POETS Always a singing word To follow smile or sob; Always the master Art is heard Above their own heart-throb. The songless ones complain, "Had we their magic voice The unborn age would feel our pain. The world with us rejoice." The saint may long for sin. The sinner for sanctity — They cry for a songless depth within The soul's own secrecy. THE CALL Sing no more of the meadow brook That wanders amid the grasses; Sing no more of the lover's look When the careless maiden passes ; But sing of passion that endureth, large, Sweeping the soul to life's untrodden marge. Sing of Peruvian peaks that rise In silence, barren, regal ; Unseen, unsought of human eyes. Too lonely for the eagle ; Where only the winds of God are unafraid To search the eternal terrors He has made. Sing of the souls who challenge Death When the years are fairest, royal ; Of one with shattered form who saith, "My commander proves disloyal ; The wide earth waits and ages yet to be — Bravo! I fight so long as I can see!" lO THE REBUKE "I am poet and" — and what? Cringing slave of sense, perhaps, Peering as the curtain flaps From the canvas dressing-room While Queen Lotta sprays perfume — Heaven forgive you, I cannot. "I am poet and" — and what? Mystic in the Church, maybe, Soul absorbed in ecstacy At the priestly mutterings While the silver censer swings — So you worship? — I cannot. "I am poet and" — and what? Stupor, chaos, then the call To creation's wonder-hall, That the slumbering Forms be stirred By thy glad, imperial word — Have ye faltered ? — I cannot. "I am poet and" — and what? Calmer joy or fiercer throe Can the searching spirit know? Is there aught to do or dare More desired of God elsewhere? — You may find it, I cannot. I! THE HOUR OF HEALING They felt at last the wooing magic Of clarinet and flute; Of the wailing oboe, mystic, tragic, Of the trombone's bold salute. They heard the sudden cymbals clashing, The roll of the kettle-drum; They saw the bows of the viols flashing Till they had overcome. A silence, then a choral singing That mingled awe with mirth, As it now dared, now dreaded, bringing Heaven down to earth. Sustaining all, the melancholy Or riotous organ-roll Rebuked the fever and the folly Of each despairing soul. O silvery singing, brazen thunder. In triumphant final note; O echoing plaudits, loving wonder, For him who dreamed and wrote! Fearless of fate, his soul has spoken And the souls of men have heard ; The spell of the Enemy is broken By Art with her healing word. 12 BEHIND THE SCENES Dull properties and dingy wings, A dusty glass in the make-up room, For a poet's dream from across the seas; A widow's voice that scorns and stings Flung from the happiest maid who sings — An evening mingling the mysteries That abide with man till the day of doom! With clouded face, with threatening hand, You banished the hero from home and heart- That saddened one with glances wild — To exile in that imprisoned band Whom none may love or understand; And now we sighed and now we smiled, Moved by the mystery of Art. "Exit angrily" — and you Came radiant from the mimic strife. Then something in our hearts that slept Awoke and cried, though no one knew, And while we waited for the cue We cared not whether we smiled or wept, Moved by the mystery of Life. 13 STAGE MEMORIES {In a Prairie Village Club-Room) Prairie, prairie, everjovhere! O how far the dear old merry Hours of bliss in Herald Square! Ada Rehan as the Shrew; Irving crouching as the Jew, While the sweet, the splendid, Terry Wins the verdict firm and true ! We bent double, you and I, At Jefferson in Rip van Winkle — Rip's own Hudson flowing by: (Muddy Platte, alas, to-day! ) Why, the stars above Broadway Seemed to laugh with us, to twinkle As if they had seen the play! Cross the pond — to Albert Hall! Patti still supremely singing — Musical as a waterfall — Daring aria, simple song. To the wondering London throng; In our hearts the echoes ringing Kept us smoking all night long! Cross the Channel — dream of France! That one night with Mounet-Sully — (Ah, your eyes begin to dance! ) How he writhed across the stage — Artist? — Demon! — in the rage Of a Hamlet acted really Once at least within our age ! 14 "Surely memories are best — Here where money rules emotion, In the rude and selfish West! Brilliant skies at night and morn Smile above alfalfa, corn, But the grace of Art's devotion In far other lands is born." Shame upon you — land of dearth? English music, Eastern story Pass, like Puck, around the earth, With words of genial bantering — "Flutter, little heart" — that bring Echoes of Art's world-wide glory By the lips of Pitti-Sing. David Garrick, Pinafore, Ibsen, Sheridan, Van Eeden, Waiting at our prairie door! And I know in days to be. Musing on far land or sea, Norseland hero, Nippon maiden, Shall smile across the years for me! 1"5 ART'S WIDE DOMAIN Art loves the deep, abiding peace That broods within cathedrals dim; The burning Bacchic choral hymn Whose music maddened the maids of Greece; The master hand upon the bow Weaving the dreams of a golden age; The soul oblivious on the stage Of all save the weight of Hamlet's woe ; The pain forever marble-sealed Of strugglers in the serpent's fold ; The Virgin arms that Jesus hold, The peasants praying in the field. Art deems no stranger small or great Within her realm of joy and tears; Who worships her and humbly fears Is welcome at each open gate. i6 SPRING SONG Young robin bills are across the nest In the maple ever greener; The season is fair as a welcome guest, The oriole fluting east and west Should make my soul serener. Against the blue is a radiant spire Beyond long grassy reaches; But in my heart the old desire That withered, scarred, my soul with fire. Awakens and beseeches! O, in my soul the pain of Spring, The ecstacy of Beauty; Her kiss I crave, her song I sing — Till at last with sudden cry I cling To the gray, worn robe of Duty! 17 KINSHIP He bends to pluck a dainty bloom That noddeth in the mead — 'Tis the yellow fruit of Arachne's womb Clustering low on a weed. He runs through the woods till his breath is spent And he hears his own heart beat — From a mossy log a partridge sent A call to his comrade sweet. i8 ON WANSFELL PIKE The hum of the bees mid the heather, The slumber of sheep in the brakes; The glory of sunniest weather On the hills, the tarn, and the lakes. The rush of the breezes blowing From summits afar in the west ; The murmuring mountain brook flowing To the vale like a lark to her nest. The jet of a falcon's lost feather, Low-fallen from loftiest flight. On the glowing, velvety heather. Empurpled in afternoon light. Over woods, over isles of Winander, Far south to the sands of the sea. Reality sweeter and grander Than the dreams of a dreamer may be. O Nature, beloved, together; After years of estrangement, the rest Of thy child lying long in the heather, His heart throbbing close to thy breast! 19 THE KATYDID AT BLEA TARN COTTAGE* On yonder moor the philosophic brain And poet-spirit struggled long to cope With doubt, the labyrinthine, wherein grope Those stricken souls who dare not trust again. From this lone cottage passed the funeral train And wound its way across the rapid slope, Casting upon our craving human hope The shadows of our human loss and pain. All night from out that tiny upper room Where once the secrets of the thinker slept, We watched the timeless summits dark and dread Beneath the Northern Star, while through the gloom, Sole, chilling, sound amid the silence, crept Insistent cry, "He's dead, he's dead, he's dead" *The home of "The Solitary" in Wordsworth's "Excursion," and one of the loneliest dwellings in England. 20 A DAY IN FRANCE In the Bay of Salnt-Malo Many a gleaming sea-gull dips, Be the tide or high or low, Down between the battle-ships — Modem shield and modem lance, Eager for the foes of France. Guarding yet the ancient town Are the granite gates and wall; Church and castle, each is crown On the brow majestical. From its mingled power and grace, Of a world-renowned place. O, the beauty of the beach In the summer sun and air — Gay as far as eye may reach With the children everywhere Shaping of the plastic sand Forms for love to understand ! Blue and silvery the sea Smiles beneath a sister sky, And yon sailboat seems to be Center of the mystery — Soul of color, motion, form, Safe forever from the storm. Northward far a line of red Winds between the sea and wall; Fancy hears the martial tread, Tap of drum and captain's call — Now upon Saint-Malo's shore, Soon in foreign battle-roar. 2,1 There a girlish diver leaps, Shouting and half-terrified Though the shimmering ocean sleeps Heedless of the trembling bride, While the mother shouts in glee At the maiden's ecstacy. Ah "Suzanne, Suzanne," how soon Seemed familiar name and face; Every girlish word a tune. Every motion perfect grace, As you ran with flowing hair, Limbs of Venus, lithe and bare. Ah, "Suzanne, Suzanne," how soon Duty shadowed our delight; That sweet dreamy afternoon Darkened into lonely night, And a distant lingering glow Faded, passed, from Saint-Malo. Joys of fancy, joys of France Dying with the hours of youth! Is it God or is it chance. Is it fate or is it truth. Whispers, "Heart, one day was thine. Be the years of labor mine?" 22 IN THE NEW HAMPSHIRE HILLS The shifting shadows mingle With sunlight on Mount Carr; The drowsy cowbells tinkle On pasture slopes afar. The cheery swifts are circling Across the cloud and clear, Though all the oaks and beeches Lament the dying year. Down in the sleeping valley, Lie ripening fields of corn; Over rock and pebble murmurs The river, mountain-born. The goldfinch still is wearing His summer black and gold, And in the glowing maple The vireo's tune is bold. Beyond the pasture border Of lichen-covered wall, Within the woodland shelter. The merry chipmunks call. The thistle-sprites are sailing Across the fragrant ferns; On goldenrod and milkweed The bumblebees take turns. Grasshopper and cicada Are offering a tune To the spirit of the summer And the lazy afternoon. 23 Prone by a granite boulder", We dream, forget and rest. Till human toil seems evil, And life with Nature best. Alas, alas, for the passing Of days so rare and sweet, Alas for the heedless city. The fever heat of the street. O heart, O heart, remember, Through coming grief and ills. This hour when God was near thee, Upon the New Hampshire hills! 24 STORM IN PLYMOUTH HARBOR The air is hot, and the leaf stirs not On the outermost twig of the beeches; The waning day turns a threatening gray As far as the vision reaches. The swifts dart high toward a leaden sky, The sails have crept home to their mooring, The wind-demons brood in a sullen mood, And the deeps of the ocean are luring. Yet fear not the flash of the lightning, nor crash Of the thunder, though echoes return it; Bid the tempest blow, for the lamps are aglow In the sister lights on the Gurnet. Though the sea grows white as a woman in fright, And the foam through the harbor is leaping, The Lord of all years is calming our fears By the lights of the Gurnet unsleeping. 25 LESTER RIVER PATH Where does it lead, this woodland walk? By the scarlet berries of twisted-stalk To the haunts of rabbit, bee and hawk; By the amber shallow, the waterfall. By the blackened bole of a pine-tree tall. By brush where the hermit thrushes call; Longside the brook where the lingering foot Sways goldenrod and rattlesnake root. The aster blossoms and buttercup fruit. By boulder and branch the chipmunk is merry, Droop in the shadow, green and black berry. Red in the sun is the brilliant wild cherry. Still in the poplars a vireo whistles. Though a goldfinch is prying deep in the bristles Of the flaunting, threatening, wayside thistles. We have peered in vain for a blackcoated bear, But we've found the birch and the cedar fair In the fragrant chill of mountain air; And here where the autumn breeze caresses The delicate bloom of the ladies-tresses Is a lovely spot where the heart confesses! 26 ROSES OF EVERETT Forget-me-nots near the Rigi snow, Cardinal flowers by the cranberry marsh, Arbutus where the frosts are low And the winds of April harsh; But there is room in memory yet For roses of Everett. Gay poppies of Alsace-Lorraine, Sweet heather on the Cheviot Hills, White moonflower of the Dakota plain. Red-bud by Missouri rills; But there is room in memory yet For roses of Everett. On the laborer's hat or the maiden's breast. Or nodding welcome across the lawn; Red with the evening skies of the west Or white with the misty dawn — O there is room in memory yet For roses of Everett! 27 "PRAIRIE AND SKY ARE ENOUGH" I longed for the bloom of an apple-tree, A cardinal song from the bluff; But the moon is bright, the plain like a sea. The cry of the cranes is a mystery — Prairie and sky are enough! I longed for the Bay of Saint Brelade, Violet, crimson and hufi; But now when the plumes of the milkweed pod Sail over shanty and furrows of sod — Prairie and sky are enough ! I longed for a glimpse of the Alpine vale From the Rigi barren and rough; But the circling plovers dip and wail As a coyote crosses the buffalo-trail — Prairie and sky are enough ! 78 THE HOMESTEADER When I first heard the mockingbird sing In the groves of the Arkansas River, When I watched the wheat ripening On the plains of Dakota a-quiver — Where the gulls were soaring as free As the gulls of the Baltic sea — How I pitied the King! I have built my sod-house on the claim, Paid taxes from prairie-wolf bounty; I have seen the prairie-fire flame A hundred miles over one county; Prairie schooners have sailed by my door, The rattlesnake crawled on my floor — But no King knew my name! When in April, mid sunshine and hail, I hear the prairie-cocks booming; When I follow the buffalo-trail Where the mallows and roses are blooming, And the bobolinks bubbling in tune Are telling the secrets of June — Royal glory is pale! I have lingered at noon in the heat With the owl at the prairie-dog burrow, Heard the wings of the water-fowl beat At midnight above frosty furrow; Yea, even with cornfields laid low By the cyclone's demoniac blow, My freedom is sweet. 29 Not alone in success or the sting Of failure — along with my fellows I harrow and plant in the spring, And work till the corn-kernel yellows. We are building an empire of peace Where the tramping of armies shall cease, And none hear of the King! 30 "SLOWLY AT LAST" Slowly at last from the crowded harbor Puts out a ship to sea; Slowly at last all the flutes and viols Are tuned into harmony ; Slowly at last the barren branches Burst into perfect tree; Slowly at last from the world of faces, One face for me! Swift as a ship when wind and waters With the will of the master lie; Swift as ever the yearning music Passes from low to high ; Swift as fruit ever follows blossom When the summer days are nigh — Knoweth the heart after years of doubting, Love cannot die! 31 "REST UPON ME, DUSKY EYES" (From the German of Lenau) Rest upon me, dusky eyes, Sway me with your might; Earnest, gentle, dreamy eyes, Unfathomed sweets of night! With thy magic midnight art Melt the world away ; That you only o'er my heart May hover, aye and aye! TWO WOMEN Three thousand years ago God granted rest To one, in marble halls Egyptian ; Veiling the glory of her holy plan. Or shame of sin her ashen lips confessed. And one has reaped within our feverish West Since first her harvest-days of life began : — What joy is spared from labor's winnowing-fan ? What faith to cherish on her lover's breast? My fancy cries unto that shriveled form Across the futile, alien ages till It wins the answering whisper, "Yes, my own." Those lips of living silence, cold or warm. May doom my exiled soul to darker ill — Or crown it on the long-deserted throne! 32 INVITATIONS I O come from thy guarded and curtained home Into the sunlight and air; It is a day to dream and to roam, To love and to dare. Long I have waited, will you not come Away from thy silent hall? — The sheep are breakfasting, honeybees hum, And the robins call. Up to the wind-swept crest of the hill To the birches, the poplars, the pines. Or down to the valley, with meadow and rill, Daisies and vines. Just for a day — ^with Nature and me! After my heart has confessed. Why, back to thy silence and secrecy — Or home to my breast! 33 II "The spring, the rivulet, river, The majestic embrace of the sea — Ah love ! speed faster, freer From the springs of self unto me!" "But the sand of the sea is sterile, And the rocks are veiled by the foam ; It is here in the moss and the heather God has ordained my home." "O love, the depth and the distance. And many a prayer and a groan Of the faint who struggle and perish. Leaving us free and alone !" "Woe is me! shall I go, and forever Be sad for the heather and sheep? Woe is me! shall I stay, and forever Yearn for t-he storms of the deep?" 34 THE AVOWAL I must love you, my lady, till life has grown gray. Though other hearts waver and sever; Love for an hour, love for a day, Love till the roses have faded away — Love you forever, forever. I must love you, my lady, as free as a bird. In defiance of form and of fashion ; Love you in silence, or love you in word That bursts from the fathomless depth within stirred By the fated, imperative passion. I must love you, my lady, under sun, under moon. In solacing sleep and in labor; In the foul city street at feverish noon, In sweet winds that sigh on the long, lonely dune, With the languorous sea only neighbor. I must love you, my lady, when the moment is blessed With tributes of laughter and laurel ; When failure, shame and disease have distressed. When only the legend, storm-blotted, "At Rest," Remains for mortality's moral. I must love you though Fate and your lips decree "Nay," Though between us Atlantic, Pacific; Love as one in that gloomy forest astray Who followed his guides by the strange, ghostly way To the vision, the life beatific. 35 THE APPOINTED HOUR The glacier, mammoth, buffalo Once crept across this plain; In darkness, moonlight, morning glow. You may search for them in vain. Here fighting heroes of North and South Lie calmly side by side, And the lips that craved the maiden's mouth Long years have been denied. Here, above the unheeding dead. One hour for you and me ; One word to utter or leave unsaid In the chilling secrecy. The poets will sing in the days that yet For centuries must wait; But they shall not remember, shall not forget Our answer unto Fate. Shall our spirits fail, our lips be dumb. Stricken with evil shame. When the very angels of God have come With the gift of heavenly name? Shall we choose the word so madly sweet The rebellious self desires. To find the pathway at our feet Aflame with devouring fires? Shall we choose the word serene and strong That wisdom uttereth When she fashions into fearless song Her challenge unto death ? 36 INTELLECTUAL COMMUNION. Across the leagues of frozen prairie sweep The midnight winds, with cruel, ravenous sound As if their mad, insatiate fangs had found A cluster of abandoned, moaning sheep. The village revelers have sought their sleep; But fantasies of fresher flame around Our hearth are proof of love too rarely crowned With long-desired response of deep to deep. To luxury of Soul not now subdued. Nor bound embittered in the wilderness Of Sense, the nobly liberated Mind Searches her calm and native solitude For some triumphant thought wherewith to bless The world where soul and sense are inter- twined. 37 "EVERY SONG WITHIN MY HEART" Every song within my heart Blesses you ; But when melodies depart, Love is true. Be thou mother, sister, friend, Food and drink; Let us of no alien end Dare to think. Be the blossoms of my May, Summer shower; Of the dim, wild winter day Fireside hour. In the hours of labor bright, Comrade be; In the watches of the night. Comfort me. When the laurel crowns my brow Smile and sing; Share with me the shadows now. Suffering. Be thy sob and kiss the last I shall know ; Now, ere life and love have passed, Nestle — so ! 38 THE ANSWER If power were mine that I might choose World-wide and lingering applause, Or in the lonely duty lose The self in the eternal laws? No choice is mine — but you insist, With woman's will and waiting eyes; I answer boldly — have I missed The love-light of your glad surprise? — ■ I would choose duty, follow her To valley-depth or mountain-height, Alone or leader, till the blur Closed round me in the final fight. 39 BY THE LILY BEDS Serene in midnight solitude Lie lawn and grove of the Park; Those lovers in a longing mood Clasp hands within the dark. The moon from a mild and starry sky Smiles as if she had guessed It is the farewell night of July And the lilies are at their best. O snowy bloom of the lily pond, With the leaves like curious shells; O blessed moment — and beyond, The years where the secret dwells! The summers rise, the summers wane, The lilies open, close; Shall love lose its rhythm of cheer and pain Ere the early winter snows? Cling closer, love, by the lily bed. Lean where the gold-fish dart; The moon is radiant overhead, More radiant be thy heart. Our lonely lives from birth to the grave Know rarely a night like this; Cling closer, till the lips we crave, Against our wills we kiss! 40 Ave atque vale April thrush and oriole Sing by every branch and bole; Music masters melancholy, Soul respondeth unto soul — Ave atque vale? In those days of sv^^eet unrest Passion conquering, long repressed. Promised vi^isdom, brought us folly; Now w^hen silence seemeth best — Ave atque vale. Roses red and white of June, July lilies by the lagoon ; By and by the Christmas holly, Snow across the desolate dune — Ave atque vale. 41 HOMEWARD FLIGHT Like a wounded eagle flying To the nest, So my broken heart flees crying To your breast. Faith can see the nestlings flutter Far away; Hope hears loving words you utter While I pray. Shattered eyrie, tempest-shaken To the sea; Bitter heart, of love forsaken Fatallv ! 42 MAN AND WOMAN Were their spirits born of God, Shaped of protoplasm, Between them now and evermore Yawns a bridgeless chasm. Hail across it best ye may Wavering word or daring; In the darkness let there be Responsive flames a-flaring. Many a festal shout is heard, Many a message bidden. Smile or frown is dimly seen — Then the face is hidden. Venture not too near the brink Lest you faint and stumble ; You shall find no mate below. Only bones that crumble. 43 THE NIGHT OF PARTING Starlight skies, a mood of trust — And you are questioning by my side ; Nay, not all akin to dust, Soul shall abide. Yea, I think that God is near. Though the silences are wide ; Closer, bringing fairer cheer Than lover to bride. Moonlight now — the lonely shore — The slow, but urgent inward tide; One last meeting — evermore Meetings denied. Almost at your shrinking feet Now the impatient waters glide; With those distant bells and sweet Yesterday died. Wilder than an angry sea Was our passion's early pride ; Peace at last for you and me, Purified? 44 ALONE Toiling throught the blinding tempest, Under a pitiless sun, Long the journey till the darkness Tells the day is done: O, if we had walked together How the hours had run! Weary of the fated failure, Weary of success. Now at last all earthly voices Are growing less and less: O, if we had shared together All were blessedness! "On his brow a leaf of laurel, On his breast the rue ; Man is born to sin and sorrow, Best his days be few" — O, if you had bowed there weeping, Heaven had been true! 45 " I DINNA KEN " Will she my soul has chosen mate Scorn even the crepe upon my door; Or enter, trembling, now too late. When voice of mine may vex no more, Unheard among the sons of men ? — / dinna ken, I dinna ken! One eager moment shall those eyes That ever turned so swift away, Rest on a faded glove that lies Year after year, in work or play. Upon the desk within my den ? — / dinna ken, I dinna ken! Will she who welcomed many a song But smiling said, "Sing not to me," Read the unfinished rhymes and long To bring from death's dark treasury The word that waited for my pen ?— / dinna ken, I dinna ken! 46 EBB AND FLOW Watch the apple-blossoms blow, With the warblers northward passing; Watch the shifting banks of snow When December clouds are massing; Joy of Maytime, winter woe — Ebb and flow, ebb and flow. Grandly rye and barley grow Into fields of golden wonder; Comrades of our bivouac low Underneath the battle-thunder; Peace and war must come and go — Ebb and flow, ebb and flow. Hour when passion thrills thee so Fate herself seems friend and lover; Hour when wounded, fainting, slow. Spirit creeps to nearest cover; Soul must master yes and no — Ebb and flow, ebb and flow. Ashen cheeks begin to glow. Motherhood transforms the maiden ; Fatherhood has met the foe, Pace on, slowly, heavy-laden ; Throe of birth to dying throe — Ebb and flow, ebb and flow. 47 TO-DAY The April violets have passed, The roses yet delay; What wilt thou with this racking blast Of hail to-day? Thy spray of laurel withers now, But death denies thee long; What wilt thou with this wrinkled brow, This bitter song? One holy prayer forever still, Its comrade yet unborn, What wilt thou with the harlot's will, The girlish scorn? Dim are thy fathers' faith and plan, The prophets leave thee lone; What wilt thou with this heart of man, This God unknown? 48 THE UNFULFILLED O sad enough the shattered ships, The birdlings dead within the nest; But sadder far the scornful lips, The unmated woman's withered breast Whereon no babe has pressed. O sad in the dungeon-gloom of doubt To learn our soul no more believes ; But sadder far the summit-shout Unvexed by love for him who grieves In failing hope by the scattered sheaves. 49 AN AUTUMNAL DIRGE "Mother Earth" and "Father God"— So the preacher said ; Bloom the gentian, goldenrod, He lies dead. O the splendor of the skies, Blisses of the air, Flaming glories of the year that dies Sweet and fair! "Of that spirit shall the flame Burn with enduring light;" Soon, too soon, the earthly frame Fades from sight. "We shall follow on to him ;" So we dream or trust, But the way is very dim Through the dust. "Father God" and "Mother Earth"— Which shall hold us fast? Few the years between death and birth, His are passed. "Mother Earth" and "Father God"— So the preacher said; Bloom the gentian, goldenrod. He lies dead? 50 AN EASTER CREED "The body of Jesus opened the womb, The body of Jesus hung on the cross; 'The body of Jesus rose from the tomb, Or belief is a loss'? I believe in the violets empurpling the crest, The golden corydalis bloom by the brook; I believe in the thrushes building their nest In the barberry nook. I believe in the cardinal warbling at dawn, The song of the indigo-bird in the heat; I believe in the grass growing green on the lawn, In the winter wheat. I believe in the spring by the rock on the hill, The river that carries the schooner to sea; The meadow in sunshine, the forest a-thrill In the wind's agony, I believe in the emigrant dying alone, Lost from the caravan crossing the plains; I believe in the mansion his grandchildren own He lives and attains." These were the words from his lips and tongue Where enemies wait with ready scorn; Who knoweth the hopes that his heart has sung On that Easter morn? 51 SONG OF A BROTHER Intrenched in the might of ages The Emperor scorneth me; He heeds not the perilous, blood-red pages Born of his tyranny. From my crushing pain and labor He turns away in disgust; For my simple, loving, loyal neighbor His gift is a bayonet thrust. Cathedral choir and steeple Assert his love of God, But over the patient, suffering people He stands with Satan's rod. A banquet of babes in the palace. And chains on the mothers' feet; The curse of a million souls in the chalice The Emperor findeth sweet. O God, O God, I am praying To save my soul from hate — Smite from my hands the power of slaying Ere it be too late! 52 THE INHERITANCE Unmeasured hate has raged on earth Since beast could leap or crawl, But here our pathway leads from birth Unto the sheltering pall. The curse of blood is on our race Since the crime of treacherous Cain, But human is our destined place In the cosmic home of pain. There are stains on the banner we love best, From Georgia and Mexico, But the lives of the holy, east and west, Shall cleanse it white as snow. Edict of Worms and Latimer's stake, Eve of Bartholomew — O sinning Mother, for thy sake Pray for children wise and true. 53 INDIVIDUALITY You thrill at the flight of a meadow bird, My senses crave the crowded street; From man or nature no one word Makes both our pulses beat. This is the hour you would be free, When will of mine would rule a slave ; You hear victorious melody When I dream of my grave. "The anchor is hoisted, sails unfurled; O scent of the sea, and flash of the foam" — "Make voyage, you, around the world, But I abide at honve." 54 MY OWN I would suck the bitter, perilous fruits, I would chew the bark of nauseous roots, I would gnaw the wolf's abandoned bone, If I might find my own. Lash me atop of the swaying mast Amid the sleet and the midnight blast That blends with the breaking vessel's groan, If I may find my own. Shackle my feet and bind my hands, Bear me a slave to deadly lands To strike all day on the stubborn stone. If I may find my own. I would woo the fever's wasting heat With the taunting demons at my feet, The sunken eyes whence reason has flown. If I might find my own. Tear ofi the wreath the master gave, And break the marble over my grave To be by brambles overgrown, If I may find my own. 5S CHALLENGE TO THE QUEST He scratched on a granite rock unhewn The dim design of a cosmic rune — Have ye wisdom now to gain the boon? He broke few twigs on his thorny trail, And many were torn by the teeth of the gale- Can ye follow on through the snow and hail? He hung a charm on the cavern wall, With power over love and hate and all — Through the slimy darkness one must crawl! He wrote the word in an open place Where the tidal waters began to chase — If you wish to read, 'tis a venturous race. He left one gem on the glacial crags, Another fell on the crater slags, One lies in a dying beggar's rags: If ye bind these three by a spray of heather Alone on the moor in stormiest weather You will find his soul and yours together. 56 TO THE OUTWARD-BOUND In neither mart nor home reveal The secret of thy mind ; Tell nothing of thy maddening zeal Unless to the mid-sea wind. In the hour of shattering surge and rock Thy wreckage will be plain; Or if after calm and tempest-shock Thy ship hails port again, With spices from thy chosen isles And sail to the top-main-mast, Delay thy prayer, thy gifts and smiles Till the cables bind her fast. O many a dream and many a quest And many a daring vow, And many a ship drifting east and west Silent from stern to prow! The seasons are long, the oceans wide. There are coasts without a chart — The secret of thy course confide To God and thine own heart. 57 THE LITTLE THINGS Better be glad for the little things — An April violet, A field of clover, dewy-w^et, A shady lawn where a robin sings Above the tea-tray Fanny brings — That may be all you will get. Better be glad for the little place You hold in the big world yet; A daily task and a sinking debt. And surely one, if only one, face To smile a welcome to your embrace — That may be all you will get. Better be glad for the passing year In spite of its pain and fret; Remember the neighbors you have met. The hours of health after desolate fear, The familiar hours of household cheer — That may be all you will get. Better be glad for life's little day From dawn till the sun has set; Pass with a smile, without regret, While thy nearest comrades pause to say: "We loved him, bury him, haste away"— That may be all you will get. 58 THE WANDERER Because he searches not your goal He has no life at all? Because he wanders, an altered soul, He has not followed the call? Search him not by shore or street, Stay in the ancient place; If it chance your bodies meet, Remember not his face. Live your life by day, by night, Obeying the vision old ; But if God granteth thee new light Be thankful — and be bold. Then some mom when the lilacs bloom But the wrathful skies are wide. Pray unto Him whose gracious doom Blesses the flower and the thunder's gloom. And find him by your side! 59 THE SEARCH I am nobler than my bliss, I am deeper than my pain ; Roses blossom through the kiss Of sun and rain. Soul is more than saintliness, Self more tragic than my sin ; Before my portal curse or bless- Not within. Were you really seeking me? It is willed of God, you say? Find me — by the polar sea, Or Milky Way. 60 TO A LEADER Be not as one who in languor rehearses Unfelt and unstudied his part; Be not as one who gives blessing or curses From the moods of a wavering heart. Firm in thy spirit and fair in thy measure Unto the destined ones give; Hoard not and waste not thy pain-purchased treas- ure; Live that thy fellow may live. Fix thou the purpose, decree thou the fashion, Say when the moment shall be; Speaking in calmness or singing in passion Words of the disciplined, free. Soul that shall cry to thee, stranger or brother. Find thee responsive to need ; Owning one Master, He and no other Shaping thy will and thy deed. Power of planets obeying their courses Thrills through thy atom of dust; Strength of the streams from the sea to their sources Waits the command of the just; Love with his eager, omnipotent forces Pleads for thy trust. 6i THE WAIF-DREAM Born of mental, moral, throe, Helpless at thy door of life, Wilt thou heed the coward's "No" From master, friend, or wife? Cherish with caress and word. Dreaming in a slavish spell. Till from its cruel lips are heard Messages from hell? Nurture it with prayer and tears. Sparing not reproof or rod. Till, some sleepless night, appears Likeness unto God? 62 A MOOD OF THE GLOAMING How fast the darkness merges Till in the morning all is lost, And many a marvel of the frost Is shining in the autumnal sun, embossed Upon the river verges. How fast the daylight passes. Till the swifts are circling in the sky, The blackbird flocks wing darkly by, And scarce one sees the faded leaves that lie Upon the lingering grasses. How soon our holy fancies Are shattered by the fleshly blow; Within the chapel, ere we know, Beside the crucifix the unconquered Foe Of Son and Maid advances. 63 A MOOD OF THE MORNING White flag and a herald of truce Advance from the army of giants; The air clear of smoke, peace after shouts of abuse For a moment, then hell again shall break loose, For this is the answer, Defiance. Fails the last comrade, the will Whereon I had placed firm reliance, Of the shame, the terror of battle, at last has its fill ; What then? — on alone, sternly calm, crying still, This is my answer. Defiance. Win the world-fight, if ye can. Cross of faith and vial of science; Charging, they grant me no time to fathom your plan. Only to fight and fall like a man — To die in unbroken Defiance. 64 COMRADES OF MINE From East and West, From North and South, From the mountain's breast And the river's mouth ; From lands where the corn and wheat grow best, From lands of sullen drouth. Met by day, by night, Year out, year in. In the failing fight Or the ranks that win. On the heights where life was love and light. In the sulphurous chasm of sin. Known face to face In dream or deed, Of many a race And many a creed ; One like a flower of cherished grace. One like a trampled weed. Would I might sing One song, one line, Half answering My soul's design Close unto you for aye to cling. Comrades, Comrades of mine ! 65 "WORKING TOGETHER" In May the oriole's golden flame Flashed through the catkins of the willow; The bees of half the village came And swayed like birds upon a billow. From the gnarled branches hangs a swing; In sunshine and in rainy weather Our mingling voices rise and ring While merry-mad we "work together." When swift across the shady yard The dusk of summer-eves is falling, We whisper, trembling, "harder, hard — I see the ghosts, I hear them calling!" Far from our danger near the ground The swing is moving higher, faster. Until it sweeps to the farthest bound, And no dread ghost may be our master! How Life has mocked our boyish play; You toil beside the Yukon River, I in a city old and gray Where the Atlantic surges qyiver! In all the darkness of the years, O playmate, playmate like a brother, Each trembles lonely in his fears, — No more in joy we "work together." 66 And many ghosts of sorrow creep Around us when the night is falling, When, all alone, we cannot sweep The swing beyond their touch and calling. Do still in May the orioles come To flash and sing within the willow? Do still the bees in music hum And sway like birds upon a billow? TWILIGHT BY THE MALL The moonlight creeps across yon gilded roof, And northward far of massive block on block The spire of Grace is dim ; the stubborn rock Echoes beneath the roar of wheel and hoof: Along Broadway — a human warp whose woof Is spun by hurrying crowds that bridgeward flock ; Some with glad faces, some who seem to mock. Some sad, and some who coldly hold aloof. Yet here is calm for which the self has sought! When crushing grief and stormy rapture meet And mingle here, as night subdues the day, Be silent, till thy anxious soul has caught The harmony wherein the incomplete, Defiant, private note must pass away. 67 INSIGHT I saw no beauty in the bower, I murmured, "Let us pass" — He bent and plucked a perfect flower From out the trampled grass. I heard her laughter, but no glance Revealed her loyal soul — He found a heart above all chance While all the ages roll. I read unmoved the master-line Of wisdom's majesty — He whispered, smiling, "This is mine. My ship is launched to sea." I heard the praying of the priest, I saw the incense rise — But he sat welcome at the feast With saints in Paradise. 68 THREE VISITORS One crept across my sunny day Of humble solitude; Ere noon the sky was cold and gray From his imperious mood. One sped across my lonely night, Too swift for glance or word ; I only saw a trail of light That left me vainly stirred. I labored early, labored long, Shaping my piece-work well; And every hour was like a song Beneath her blessed spell. THE COMMON DAY Nor dread nor beautiful the sky, No fragrance scents the air; The patient year is waiting to die, The fields and woods are bare. Our souls hear no celestial song Redeeming earthly need ; No vision vast of human wrong Arouses heroic deed. We may not feel the impassioned throb That blessed life's earlier days; We may not fear the pain and sob That wait in coming ways. Whether days the future hideth yet Or those long dead are best, To-day we question not, nor fret, Content in God to rest. 70 HOMEWARD BOUND I Home from every wandering Silent would I creep at last, To quench my thirst beside the spring Where my childhood days were passed. I am faint in the halls of fame From bitter word and envious look — Are they waiting yet, the same Bee and bird beside the brook? II In the flaming haunts of sin Faces that I sought are strange; if I might find within One cottage door no sign of change! 1 would kneel beside her chair, Feel her hand upon my brow. Whisper, "Exiled everywhere, I have found my shelter now." 71 Ill I have lost Thee in the dark Of chosen sin and cureless pain ; I can find no guiding mark Till I hear Thy voice again. Call me — by the rose in bloom, By the anger of the sea; Call me to the final doom If the pathway leads to Thee! CADENCES A glow-worm's tremulous gleam, The rising sigh of the river breeze, A silent cuckoo's flight In the darkening trees — And all the day fades into dream When falls the night. A reverent wondering At something very sweet and strange; The conquering stars above All cloudy change; Old sorrows die, the soul must sing When Cometh love. The rose of life denied The heart which nourished long the bud; The body's baffled breath And chilling blood — The soul's lost vistas opening wide When cometh death. 72 SONGS BEFORE DEATH O Poet, unmated or wedded to wife, Feeble and fleeting thy breath; Sung in the stillness or sung in the strife All thy songs fashioned in fullness of life Are songs before death. The silence may fall with the roses of June, Or delaying for many a year. With the winds of March or December moon, But the soul that in living has uttered its tune Shall hail it with cheer. THE FINAL CHOICE It is not given to command The place or season when we pass; Men die on the feverish desert sand. On city pavement, meadow-grass. One dreams of death in the battle-roar Of imperial foe's artillery; One prays, "This faithful friend, no more, To watch alone with death and me." Some long for a dear ancestral room. Some for the crag where the glacier slips; For one — a valley where roses bloom. And a new-bom song upon his lips! 73 THE PERFECT WORD Clear to the sudden, final gate Wilt follow urgently? One more breath for thee shall wait That the perfect word may be. With fainting heart and feeble sense, Thy purpose, thou shalt know. Above thy suffering impotence Attains in that last sharp throe. No fellow spirit may be stirred, Believe thy mastery. But thy farewell singing shall be heard Of Death, of God, of Thee. 74 HARBOR SONG O my soul, art thou grave At each flash of a crest? Leave the wind and the v Unto God — be at rest. For the sea and the sky Are less dear unto Him, Than thy loneliest cry When the harbor is dim. In His peace is thy pow^er, And His joy is thy right, Though hastens the hour Of the storm and the night. Hail the harbor with cheers, Or perish with song That may pardon thy fears To the Lord of the strong! 75 NOV 11 1912 iGR^Sf«\