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RHYMES OF A TROPIC TRAMP 
 
Rhymes of a 
 
 Tropic Tramp 
 
 By 
 GEORGE GATLIN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 JAMES T. WHITE & CO. 
 
 1920 
 
Grateful acknowledgment is made to the 
 respective Publishers for permission to use 
 the verses reprinted from their magazines. 
 
 
 V 24 1920 
 
 Copyright 191 9 
 By James T. White & Co. 
 
 ©CI.A570098 
 
TO A. V. S. 
 
 Friend of mine, do you remember 
 
 The cUifs of Masatlan, 
 The bay of Olas Alias, 
 
 Its stretch of silvery sand. 
 Our stop in Sinaloa, 
 
 On the way to Yucatan? 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE SONGS I SING 13 
 
 BACK TO TROPIC ISLANDS I4 
 
 TO A FORTY-FOUR 16 
 
 ON THE ISLANDS 17 
 
 REINCARNATION 18 
 
 YUMA TOWN 19 
 
 MAKE HASTE, CYNTHIA 20 
 
 TRAMPS OF THE NORTH . ll 
 
 " MAD, NAKED BLAKE " 23 
 
 PRAYER FOR A PRODIGAL 24 
 
 HOME 25 
 
 THE CONCORD HILLS 26 
 
 TO A CHINESE GIRL 27 
 
 THE LEPER COLONY OF CULION 28 
 
 BANZAI NIPPON 29 
 
 IN A CABARET 3O 
 
 MOTHER OF A SOLDIER 32 
 
 ROMANY SONG 33 
 
 THE ORCHID HUNTER 34 
 
 AN ENGINEER, BLINDED 36 
 
 THE OLD FRIENDS 37 
 
 AN ARABIAN NIGHT 38 
 
 TO MY LITTLE SON . . . 40 
 
 IN THE SHADOW 4I 
 
 THE ROAD-KID RIDES 4^ 
 
 A TOUCH OF SUN 43 
 
PAGE 
 
 THE MAKIn' of holy JOE 44 
 
 THE DREAMERS ANSWER 4^ 
 
 REST OR GO MAD 4^ 
 
 " LITTLE BOY BLUE " 49 
 
 THE HOME CALL SO 
 
 " THEY SHALL NOT PASS " 52 
 
 THE WASTER SPEAKS 53 
 
 THE TIRED SQUAD 54 
 
 THE OLD LOVE 55 
 
 TO AN AVIATOR 5^ 
 
 THE SHRINE OF GUADALUPE 57 
 
 LUCIFER SPEAKS 5^ 
 
 TO MUSIC 60 
 
 PRAYER OF AN EGOIST 6l 
 
 MARIQUITA 62 
 
 GYPSY SONG 64 
 
 A PRAYER 66 
 
 THE devil's plan 67 
 
 WE DREAMERS 68 
 
 FREE LOVE 69 
 
 PERFECT LAWS 70 
 
 BIRDS OF FAR PASSAGE 7I 
 
 TO A mountain GIRL 72 
 
 THE CASTANETS 73 
 
 ENCELADUS 74 
 
 GO, AND SIN NO MORE 75 
 
 THE COWMAN IS FED-UP 76 
 
 ON A RING yy 
 
 FROM AN IVORY TOWER 78 
 
 THE MEXICAN WEST COAST 80 
 
 A SEA GRAVE 82 
 
 THUS I WOULD BUILD 84 
 
 A TOAST 85 
 
RHYMES OF A TRAGIC TRAMP 
 
THE SONGS I SING 
 
 I SING no songs of Ancient Rome, 
 Since " Arms and the Man " one Virgil sang. 
 I sing as I will, dark moods and light. 
 
 And what's your wrong is maybe my right, 
 At least as I understand. 
 
 I sing no songs except in minor tone, 
 And those less crude are maybe overbold. 
 
 I sing songs different for the few. 
 And some for those who never knew 
 
 The sting of brain and soul. 
 
 I love my life, my work, and liberty. 
 Therefore the songs I sing are of myself. 
 
 Personal I am, and proud almost. 
 For I who sing am guest and host. 
 
 These lines prelude my varied rhymes. 
 
 13 
 
BACK TO TROPIC ISLANDS 
 
 I'M shipping in the morning, tell the chief I was 
 shanghied, 
 And with copy, ink, and proof-sheets I am done; 
 When I told myself I'd settled down I knew that I had 
 lied, 
 For I'd rather comb the beaches in the sun. 
 
 We'll be ploughing back tomorrow, south, for Indigo 
 and rice, 
 
 To the Tropics, to the jungle life I know. 
 And I'm blowing on my uppers to an island paradise, 
 
 Where the master of a fruit-ship left me years ago. 
 
 He left me on the flood tide, with my bare feet in the 
 sands, 
 But I didn't give a damn to see him go. 
 For I had a shell-and-pea game to work the black-and- 
 tans, 
 And I'd found a sort of Bimini, you know. 
 
 I wonder if that island girl still loves and waits for me, 
 Wearing flowers of the jungle in her hair ; 
 
 I know she tried to strangle me in blazing jealousy, 
 *Twas no wonder, (but a necklace made it square). 
 
 14 
 
She wore a gay silk turban on her pretty little head, 
 With a band of olive skin above her hips, 
 
 Between the Spanish jacket and the Burma skirt of red, 
 And the Tropics wove a spell upon her lips. 
 
 She'll be within the jungle where the glow-worm beetle 
 gleams 
 And sweeps so like a flame among the trees, 
 I'll hear her voice caressing in my opiate colored 
 
 dreams, 
 As she holds my tired head on her knees. 
 
 I will sit again enraptured in that moisture laden air, 
 Where the jungle drips and glistens through the riffs, 
 
 And smell the perfume 'round us from the orchids in 
 her hair, 
 And swing my shoe-cramped feet in the mists. 
 
 I'll slip into the jungle when the sun is burning bright. 
 Where I'll eat again those brittle coca leaves, 
 
 And in a hut of palms in the hazy, mellow light 
 I can while away long hours as I please. 
 
 15 
 
TO A FORTY-FOUR 
 
 FRIEND of the old days, the red days, my free days, 
 Most prized of my treasures, you old-time forty- 
 four; 
 You hang, six-notched and deadly, trigger-tied, and 
 ready, 
 Though the old hip-shootin' hombres are riding in no 
 more. 
 
 Friend of the new days, effete days, my last days, 
 No killers show six-guns as in the old, red West. 
 
 You hang, man-sized and heavy, old-fashioned now, 
 already, 
 For the boxed-up automatic can be toted in one's vest. 
 
 You of my old friends, my true friend, my tried friend ; 
 No misused, shining Colt's-gun for the moving-picture 
 plays ; 
 You hang, sand-scratched and steady, lightly oiled and 
 ready, 
 Fit tribute from a rider to his friend of desert days. 
 
 z6 
 
ON THE ISLANDS 
 
 TEN years on the Islands 
 And you're mad; 
 Not a spark of decency — 
 
 Oh, it's sad ; 
 Can't recall one sober day 
 
 That you've had ; 
 You've let the tropics get you 
 And you're bad. 
 
 Ten years on the Islands 
 
 And you fell. 
 Hardly conscious of surrender 
 
 To the spell. 
 You're eaten up with leprosy, 
 
 Traders tell, 
 You're a comber of the beaches - 
 
 Gone to hell. 
 
 Ten years on the Islands, 
 
 It's too long 
 To preserve one's sense of right 
 
 And of wrong. 
 The tropic spell is gentle 
 
 But it's strong. 
 It feeds the soul on lotus 
 
 Till it's gone. 
 
 17 
 
REINCARNATION 
 
 DEATH will come and Death will Pass, 
 Out of the Night, the Day ; 
 Each Human Soul contains in itself 
 The Power of Growth and Decay. 
 
 Life will come and Life will Pass, 
 
 Out of the Dark, the Light; 
 And in a Realm of Radiance 
 
 Blind Souls receive their Sight. 
 
 i8 
 
YUMA TOWN 
 
 I WANT to go back to Yuma town, 
 Where painted desert and mountains call, 
 Riding again through the desert hills 
 As the purple shadows fall. 
 
 I left a horse with a squatter there, 
 
 Winner in many a rodeo list, 
 High-strung, bottom, sense and looks. 
 
 And a leg like a woman's wrist. 
 
 I left a girl in the blue foothills. 
 Wonder of women, child of the sun, 
 
 And many an evening she rode with me, 
 Night-herding stars when the day was done. 
 
 I want to go back to Yuma town. 
 Not lured as once by desert gold, 
 
 But seeking three things I left out there, 
 A girl, a horse, and a rider's soul. 
 
 19 
 
MAKE HASTE, CYNTHIA 
 
 MAKE haste, Cynthia, for the morning dies 
 And the evening of your realization conies; 
 Oh, make haste, for the springtime flies, 
 Old pleasures pale and gathered flowers die. 
 
 Make haste, Cynthia, ere you be too late. 
 And the shadows come, and falling hover near; 
 
 Oh, make haste, 'tis now your noon of life, 
 And when your spirit goes your body dies. 
 
 Make haste, Cynthia, for the wrinkles come, 
 And eyes once soft grow hard in sterner air; 
 
 Oh, make haste, while yet you have the strength, 
 I beg you, Cynthia, once again — make haste. 
 
 20 
 
TRAMPS OF THE NORTH 
 
 Op^ RAMPS of the north, the tropic sun is shining 
 -■■ In the semi-wild parks of southern Mexico; 
 
 Tramps of the north, the summer fruit is ripening, 
 And in the warm sun the green gardens grow. 
 
 Out of the north the birds of passage flying, 
 Gave a fair warning that golden days were done ; 
 
 Here to the south, where tropic life is calling, 
 From northern Alberta the snow-geese have come. 
 
 Down below Cancer our home birds are singing, 
 Sweet-throated, brilliant, they feast in this clime ; 
 
 Whenever they leave you should follow their winging, 
 For they lead to a place of eternal springtime. 
 
 Here in the tropics there's simple ways of " mouching," 
 Easy approach to the " friends from back home," 
 
 Gendarmes are gracious, while natives too indulging 
 Make this a Mecca where tropic tramps roam. 
 
 Tramps of the north, there's " hand-outs " past believing. 
 
 Even the peon divides his scant repast. 
 It's beans and tortillos, but if you eat smiling 
 
 A half of it's yours as long as it lasts. 
 
 21 
 
Here in the plaza there's peace in one's reposing, 
 No whistlings or watchmen awake from pleasant sleep, 
 
 No laws are enforced that prevent one reclining 
 By night-sticks of bluecoats rapping one's feet. 
 
 Here in the tropics the " cup that cheers " is flowing, 
 In a thousand cantinas of this elysian land ; 
 
 You in the north, where winter's winds are blowing. 
 Must mix up your " alki " in a battered tin can. 
 
 Tramps of the north, the southern bands are playing 
 Bizet's airs from Carmen and Spanish, gypsy stuff; 
 
 Tramps of the north, though home fires are burning, 
 Charred ends of crossties tell your way is rough. 
 
 22 
 
"MAD, NAKED BLAKE" 
 
 MAD Blake, mystic Blake, 
 Singing songs that wake 
 Fairy visions dreamers see ; 
 Music of a comet choir 
 Flashes in the golden fire 
 Of enraptured poetry. 
 
 Mad Blake, mystic Blake, 
 Singing songs that make 
 
 For your madness recompense; 
 Children laughing in the sky 
 As the trooping stars go by 
 
 In your Songs of Innocence. 
 
 Mad Blake, mystic Blake, 
 Writing happy songs that break 
 
 On tired ears exquisitely; 
 Singing even as death lies. 
 Strange, wild music improvised 
 
 In your last mad ecstasy. 
 
 23 
 
PRAYER FOR A PRODIGAL 
 
 ESUS, gentle son of Mary, 
 Jesus, hear a mother's plea ; 
 Guide my boy in all his wanderings, 
 Keep him strong and clean for me. 
 
 J 
 
 Jesus Savior, son of Mary, 
 
 Master Thou of winds and sea. 
 
 Guide my boy in pathways Holy, 
 Guide him home at last to me. 
 
 24 
 
HOME 
 
 ROAD-KID, comet, royal-tramp. 
 Wanderers bred-in-the-bone ; 
 Oh, a gay-cat sings when clicking rails 
 Hum the tune of " Home, Sweet Home." 
 
 Road-kid, comet, royal-tramp, 
 
 Blown-in-the-glass they roam. 
 Tracking across the wide, wide world, 
 
 When the goal of it all is — home. 
 
 25 
 
THE CONCORD HILLS 
 
 THE old trees, the rough old trees, 
 No other background fills, 
 The mellow picture memory paints 
 Of home in the Concord hills. 
 
 For those hills are old home hills, 
 Linked with dreams of rowdy youth ; 
 
 The square dance, blind Tom calling, 
 " Swing your pardners, all salute." 
 
 The iron spring, that dear old spring. 
 Where sweethearts went each day; 
 
 The beech trees, carved with initials, 
 Monogramed in our bashful way. 
 
 The years pass but the memory lasts, 
 And the longing cannot be stilled, 
 
 Till I see again my old home. 
 That home in the Concord hills. 
 
 26 
 
TO A CHINESE GIRL 
 
 SAY, little China girl, 
 Quit your kidding, let me go ; 
 Ah Kim wonders why I stay, 
 It's because you're smiling so. 
 
 Say, little China girl, 
 
 Whence such charm and mystery? 
 Dainty, strange, and un-Chinese, 
 
 Slant eyes smiling after me. 
 
 Say, little China girl. 
 
 Ah Kim's kid of scarce fourteen, 
 I'm no prince you're looking for, 
 
 I'm a — well kid — keep your dream. 
 
 Say, little China girl. 
 
 Ten years gone, across the sea. 
 Wonder if your prince has come, 
 
 For your smile still follows me. 
 
 27 
 
THE LEPER COLONY OF CULION 
 
 THREE thousand men would cry " Unclean ! 
 Were they bound by Levitical bond, 
 Three thousand lepers waiting death, 
 On the Island of Culion. 
 
 Bamboo and palms to shelter them, 
 
 Exiled there whence none can flee, 
 The leper island lies among 
 
 The thousand isles of the China Sea. 
 
 Three thousand men who wistful look 
 On Holy Ground where peace is sure, 
 
 Three thousand lepers pray release 
 In a merciful death — the only cure. 
 
 Bamboo and palms to shelter them. 
 Deadlines mark where they are free; 
 
 The forbidden city lies half-hid, 
 Across the world on the China Sea. 
 
 28 
 
BANZAI NIPPON 
 
 WE pray thee, Gods of our Fathers, 
 Keep faith with our native land ; 
 For we of Nippon are a people, Lords, 
 Ten thousand years, Japan. 
 
 We pray, old Gods, for the honor 
 To die for our native land ; 
 
 Though we seek only peace for the Empire, 
 Ten thousand years, Japan. 
 
 29 
 
IN A CABARET 
 
 YOU poor little kid of the cabaret, 
 Dancing the midnight hours away, 
 Hiding the hurts you dare not show, 
 Pretending a joy you cannot know; 
 Off with your tights, come to the fields. 
 Out in the open where nature heals 
 The tired ones who go. 
 
 You poor little kid of the cabaret, 
 
 Doing your stunt as violins play, 
 Fluttering where the bright lights shine, 
 
 Seeking there what you cannot find; 
 Off to the woods, come to the plains, 
 
 Dance in the sun and wind and rain, 
 And leave all this behind. 
 
 You poor little kid of the cabaret, 
 I'm waiting to hear what you will say, 
 
 Waiting to see if you will go 
 Where birds are singing and clear brooks flow; 
 
 Off to the fields, this is your chance, 
 To freely live and to gayly dance 
 
 Where little flowers grow. 
 
 30 
 
You poor little kid of the cabaret, 
 Youth is the price you'll have to pay, 
 
 Unless you break the night-life's hold, 
 Going away for the good of your soul; 
 
 Off to the hills, out in the air. 
 Finding the joys that God put there. 
 
 Wealth that laughs at gold. 
 
 31 
 
MOTHER OF A SOLDIER 
 
 GOOD-BYE, lad. There's nothing I'll be needing. 
 (Brave mother! She smiles with heart that's 
 bleeding.) 
 Write, lad ; tell me when you are leading 
 
 Troops to glory and to victory in France. 
 
 Good-bye, lad. I'm proud that you are going. 
 (Brave mother! She keeps hot tears from flowing.) 
 Go, lad ; I hear the bugles blowing 
 
 And I'm glad I have a son to send to France. 
 
 June igi8. 
 
 3* 
 
ROMANY SONG 
 
 I WANT to see, to see again 
 The Romany patteran, 
 Familiar sign of place and time, 
 Cross of our love in gypsy land. 
 
 I want to go, to go again 
 
 In moonlight and in sun, 
 Till my heart is rife with joyous life, 
 
 And the forty seas are one. 
 
 I want to be, to be again 
 
 Where tropic trade winds blew ; 
 The South lures back, the white sea track 
 
 Calls me over the world anew. 
 
 I want to hear, to hear again 
 The Romany songs and lore. 
 
 To turn my face and find a place 
 With a caravan once more. 
 
 33 
 
THE ORCHID HUNTER 
 
 SOMEWHERE down there, where the Tropic calls, 
 And lily-palms drip as the darkness falls. 
 The orchids bloom, and here and there 
 Bat vampires fan through the perfumed air. 
 
 Somewhere down there, where the orchids swing 
 On their slender stems, a white man came ; 
 
 And the air-plants lured to the jungle dim 
 That the Tropics had poisoned to master him. 
 
 Somewhere down there, where the insects drone 
 On the jungle edge, there is madness sown. 
 
 There the orchid hunter still hunts on, 
 And he cannot leave for his soul is gone. 
 
 Somewhere down there, where the palms grow rank, 
 There's a hut on stilts on a river bank; 
 
 And the Tropics brood and the jungle drips. 
 And white mists rise through the trees in riffs. 
 
 Somewhere down there, in that low, damp place, 
 
 The jungle grows and its feelers taste 
 Of the stilted house where, taught to wait, 
 
 Sits a brown-skinned girl, the hunter's mate. 
 
 34 
 
Somewhere down there, where the blood grows thin, 
 He forgets the codes of his kith and kin, 
 
 And strings rare orchids about the neck 
 Of a native girl in Tehuantepec. 
 
 35 
 
Y 
 
 AN ENGINEER, BLINDED 
 
 OU are dreaming of days that come no more, 
 Of trains that sweep and cross with a roar 
 Bridges you've swung from shore to shore. 
 
 Never again will bridges span 
 Ravines and rivers by my hand. 
 
 You have tunneled roads in the mountain side, 
 And fighting nature with every stride 
 
 You've reclaimed jungles where fevers hide. 
 
 Never again will I know the feel 
 
 That comes when gangs are laying steel. 
 
 You have tackled a sinking marsh and won, 
 And though they said it could n't be done 
 You found a route for the roads to run. 
 
 Never again will roadbeds go 
 Across wet places my lines show. 
 
 You may dream of the great jobs you have had, 
 The work you have done should make you glad, 
 Yet, I find you restless, hopeless, sad. 
 
 Dear God! Just think of years I'll spend 
 And never be able to build again. 
 
 36 
 
THE OLD FRIENDS 
 
 I NEVER knew the value of my friends, 
 But now I know, 
 Old friends go. 
 Return, ye friends, come back again. 
 
 I never prized the virtue of the old, 
 
 Till in the new 
 
 I sought for you. 
 Return, ye friends, young hearts are cold. 
 
 I never knew the sting of bitter grief, 
 
 Of pain and woe, 
 
 But now I know. 
 Return, ye friends, come back again. 
 
 37 
 
AN ARABIAN NIGHT 
 
 THERE'S a desert place where dangers lie, 
 For turbaned trades whose way leads by, 
 Where Muezzins call with a nasal cry 
 
 Mohammedans to prayer. 
 Hautboys blow and the tom-toms beat, 
 And the Zouaves idle where dancers meet, 
 The domino players lounge in the street. 
 And camel-drivers swear. 
 
 A dancer sways as the tom-toms beat, 
 In the sensuous, amorous dance of the East, 
 And my blood sings out in a fever heat, 
 
 Burning as the sun. 
 A girl of the Dunes with languid grace, 
 Whose kohl-tinted eyes gaze out in space. 
 Till they chance to read in my upturned face, 
 
 Hungerings begun. 
 
 The dance girl scorns the Zouaves proud, 
 And tom-toms beat both fast and loud. 
 As she pushes through the Bedouin crowd 
 
 With henna-painted hands. 
 With her beaded arms above her head 
 She dances her dreams for the hashish fed, 
 And pictures her tribe and the life it led 
 
 Out on the desert sands. 
 
 38 
 
With eyes half closed in an ecstasy, 
 
 She shudders, quivers, and bends to my knee, 
 
 Vibrant and sensuous she clings to me. 
 
 And lustrous eyes entice. 
 A gift of gold and the dance is done, 
 The domino games are again begun, 
 But I hunt my camels and wait the sun 
 
 In Allah's paradise. 
 
 39 
 
TO MY LITTLE SON 
 
 I WOULD not rob you of the joy of life, 
 By making smooth the path your feet must tread ; 
 I would not shield you from its trials and strife, 
 Though every cross you bear, I'd bear instead. 
 
 I would not have you spoiled by unearned gold, 
 Resistance builds, not tasks too oft made light; 
 
 I would not have you lose what toilers hold, 
 The common touch, and love for what is right. 
 
 I would not guide you on the long, rough road, 
 And have you trusting in my helping hand ; 
 
 I would not take upon myself your load, 
 Which you must bear, my son, to be a man. 
 
 40 
 
IN THE SHADOW 
 
 IN the shadow, sunless, brightless, 
 In the darkness, awful, lightless, 
 Pass the cynic and his brood. 
 
 And they pass with eyes unseeing. 
 Heads bent downward, hearts unfeeling, 
 
 Searing, wasting, teaching nothing 
 But the mockery of virtue 
 And the hopelessness of hope. 
 
 Thus they pass on, ruining, blighting 
 
 Those who live and those who dying 
 Love the cause that gave them birth. 
 
 How they glory in the blackness, 
 Showing things, themselves unseeing, 
 
 Causing tears, themselves unfeeling, 
 Fearing nothing good or evil. 
 
 Loving nothing great or small. 
 
 In the darkness of the shadow. 
 Sunless, lightless, and forever 
 
 Never changing, gazing always 
 On the shadow ever darkening 
 
 On the dreams of priests and prophets, 
 On the things we hoped were true. 
 
 41 
 
THE ROAD-KID RIDES 
 
 THE route of a tramp is marked and plain, 
 Every sign they've left I know; 
 I swore to myself I had settled down, 
 But it's spring and the "big jacks" blow. 
 
 Too fast was the life in the city, 
 
 Loud came the call to go 
 To my place in the hobo jungles, 
 
 With pals in the fire's red glow. 
 
 On the rods or bumpers, blinds or trucks. 
 Dirty and hungry and cold I may be. 
 
 But a road-kid's life is the only life, 
 And its spell is strong on me. 
 
 In spring or summer, north or south, 
 On the road with an old vag friend. 
 
 My heart sings out its joyousness 
 For I'm riding the blinds again. 
 
 42 
 
A TOUCH OF SUN 
 
 IF you get to feeling bloody, in a mood unknown to 
 you, 
 And you try to draw your pal into a fight ; 
 If you want to break a pardner's head and weep because 
 you're blue, 
 Better " take 'em in the arm " till you get right. 
 
 Don't wear a cap or derby if you're hiking in the sun ; 
 
 Get a tall sombrero for your head; 
 Keep your dome well covered or your friends will have 
 the fun 
 
 Of cabling to the home folks that you're dead. 
 
 43 
 
THE MAKIN' OF HOLY JOE 
 
 OH, we called him " Holy Joe " 
 Over There, 
 Where the allied columns bored 
 And our aviators soared 
 And the giant cannons roared, 
 Over There. 
 
 Oh, he found his soul in serving 
 
 Over There, 
 With the brave lads who, when dying, 
 " Went west " gamely, never sighing, 
 " Carry on," they'd say, and smiling, 
 
 Over There. 
 
 Oh, he dropped his saintly ways 
 
 Over There, 
 All the earmarks of his trade, 
 (Down to hell and unafraid). 
 Doing work the war had made 
 
 Over There. 
 
 Oh, the trenches taught true service 
 
 Over There. 
 In the red glare of such hate 
 He forgot to preach or prate, 
 Felt the soul within him wake, 
 
 Over There. 
 
 44 
 
Oh, we took your long-faced priest 
 
 Over There, 
 But we brought you back a man 
 With a taste of hell firsthand, 
 Larger vision from that land 
 
 Over There. 
 
 45 
 
THE DREAMERS ANSWER 
 
 DREAMERS of dreams, you call us; 
 You say we are in the way; 
 But, beloved, go thank the dreamers 
 For the blessings of today. 
 
 You have built great homes and cities, 
 And prize the work of your hands, 
 
 But you curse as idle dreamers 
 The ones who furnished the plans. 
 
 You call us scorners and idlers, 
 
 Fanatics, scoffers, and fools, 
 As your fathers damned our insolence 
 
 When we gave them churches and schools. 
 
 You fear not the cold of the winter. 
 
 You now toil day and night ; 
 The work of the dreamers, beloved, 
 
 For we gave you heat and light. 
 
 You once were afraid of the darkness, 
 
 You knew not the use of fire, 
 Till the dreamers began their dreaming, 
 
 And lifted the race from the mire. 
 
 46 
 
They made you a race and a people, 
 They lightened the weight of your load, 
 
 And there grew in time a nation, 
 From the seeds that dreamers sowed. 
 
 They have given you science and culture, 
 They taught you the use of a hoe, 
 
 And those whom you scorn as dreamers 
 Are the men, beloved, who know. 
 
 47 
 
REST OR GO MAD 
 
 REST or go mad, you say to me? 
 I cannot rest, so let it be. 
 In madness perhaps there's really peace, 
 And by affliction may come release 
 From memory that pulls and drives, 
 The faint, strange dream of former lives. 
 
 Rest or go mad, you say to me? 
 I cannot rest till I am free. 
 Free from quickenings in my brain 
 Urging to heights I would attain. 
 Free from the fever heat of blood 
 That keeps me groveling in the mud. 
 
 Rest or go mad, you say to me? 
 I cannot rest while yet I see 
 Visions of beauty and color untold 
 Which kindle fires in brain and soul; 
 Thus seeking an outlet where none can be 
 The white fires burn, consuming me. 
 
 48 
 
" LITTLE BOY BLUE " 
 
 ^^f^ TVE me a book for Christmas," he said; 
 
 VJ " Give me a book, please do " ; 
 One after my heart, that smiling boy, 
 So I gave him " Little Boy Blue." 
 
 A grown-up now, that smiling boy. 
 Years passed as the years will do; 
 
 His little tin soldiers and drums are gone, 
 But he prizes his " Little Boy Blue." 
 
 49 
 
THE HOME CALL 
 
 WILDFOWLS to the north are winging, 
 From lakes in the tropical sun, 
 With never a hint in their singing, 
 
 Till the home flight had begun. 
 Unsensed, the call came speeding, 
 
 As it comes to all who roam. 
 And the bird tramps rose from feeding, 
 To answer the summons of home. 
 
 There's no call like the home call. 
 The clear call, the heart call ; 
 
 There's no call like the home call 
 When one is far away. 
 
 Green fields and rivers are cMling, 
 
 Sweet-toned the church bells ring, 
 And at eve, when shadows are falling, 
 
 The old-time darkies sing, 
 I know where a trout stream's flowing 
 
 By the roots of a sweet-gum tree. 
 And it's useless to fight against going, 
 
 When the home call comes to me. 
 
 There's no spot like the home place, 
 The quiet place, the old place ; 
 
 There's no spot like the home place 
 When one is far away. 
 
 SO 
 
Out of the past they are caUing, 
 
 Home voices, compelling and strong, 
 And the music of it is falling 
 
 On my heart like a siren's song. 
 Though over the world I am straying, 
 
 Though it means recrossing the sea, 
 It's useless to think of staying, 
 
 When the home call comes to me. 
 
 There's no place like the home town. 
 The small town, the old town; 
 There's no place like the home town 
 When one is far away. 
 
 SI 
 
" THEY SHALL NOT PASS " 
 
 STRONG hands are tense on the sword hilt, 
 Spurs clink from the booted heel; 
 We have done with our cold neutrality, 
 We have given the word — and steel. 
 
 It's war! Hear the bugles proclaim it! 
 
 The die has at last been cast, 
 And the salt of the earth who are marching, 
 
 Have vowed, " They shall not pass." 
 
 Sa 
 
THE WASTER SPEAKS 
 
 I HAVE attained my noon, and passed, 
 Alone, apart, and weak with fear; 
 Around my path long shadows fall, 
 And the day grows dark. 
 
 I have attained my noon. Too young 
 My sun has set, and twilight fades. 
 
 My dreams, my dreams are gone. 
 And hope is in the dust. 
 
 The sun has set, passed is my noon, 
 And evening shadows are here ; 
 
 The curtains of work and love are down; 
 The night, the night is near. 
 
 53 
 
THE TIRED SQUAD 
 
 IDLERS and tramps and remittance men, 
 Taking siestas on the green sod, 
 While fruit-ships bring from northern lands 
 More wearied ones for the tired squad. 
 
 Lounging and basking there in the sun, 
 Warming the benches the livelong day ; 
 
 Mouching their meals with the same old stall, 
 (Sick and stranded and broke, they say). 
 
 Tramps of the world who southward go 
 
 Where the shining sun of the tropics lure, 
 
 They swap their yarns of the wasted years, 
 Taking again the old rest-cure. 
 
 Idlers and tramps and remittance men, 
 Too tired to work or even play, 
 
 They lounge around in a flowery park 
 
 Till June rains come and drive away. 
 
 54 
 
THE OLD LOVE 
 
 YOU were an old love, 
 A dear love, a true love, 
 And it's back to my old loves 
 
 My thoughts are turning now. 
 Tender memories are waking, 
 
 As advancing years are taking 
 Friends of the golden days. 
 The old days, my young days. 
 
 And you were my dear love. 
 My first love, my last love. 
 
 And it's back now to thee, love, 
 My heart has turned again. 
 
 Oh, ever have I loved thee. 
 And ever have I held thee, 
 
 The truest of my true loves. 
 My dear love, my old love. 
 
 55 
 
TO AN AVIATOR 
 
 WHEN you've made your last flight, 
 And fall in the fight, 
 And your brave soul's sure to pass in the night. 
 It's proud you can be, 
 And clearly you'll see 
 That death's not as sad as living might be. 
 
 When the night's nearly gone, 
 
 And you've sung your swan song, 
 
 And going seems right when it once seemed wrong; 
 
 Go, pride of our race. 
 
 You have won your place, 
 
 So climb to your God with a smiling face. 
 
 October 1918. 
 
 56 
 
THE SHRINE OF GUADALUPE 
 
 WHEN I read a Spanish dateline in my morning's 
 Daily-News, 
 I've a feeling that significance would lend 
 To tradition oft repeated at the Chapel of the Well, 
 That he who drinks its water must return to drink 
 again. 
 
 Down the dusty old calzada, road of prayer for many 
 years. 
 
 With its fourteen sacred stations and Its trees, 
 I could see to Guadalupe and the Chapel of the Well, 
 
 And I'd go just like the shriners, on my knees. 
 
 I'd be again with Indians, devout and picturesque, 
 Hear their tales about the Virgin and the Well, 
 
 And maybe I believe it for I've kissed her image there, 
 And bought the sacred relics that they sell. 
 
 There's a charm in Guadalupe that no other shrine can 
 boast. 
 
 Neither Mecca, river Ganges, or historical Nikko, 
 And it makes one more religious to be a pilgrim there, 
 
 In this holy of the holies in the heart of Mexico. 
 
 57 
 
LUCIFER SPEAKS 
 
 CARRY this word to your people 
 Bowed down with age-old pain ; 
 Tell them the rebel angel 
 Has preached the word — attain. 
 
 Tell them, though thunder beat me, 
 Unconquered, I did not swerve. 
 
 And say that Lucifer, evil arch-angel, 
 Was one who would not serve. 
 
 Carry this word to your people, 
 
 Some of the wise may see; 
 Tell them that Lucifer made a war 
 
 That all men might be free. 
 
 Teach men the truth, ye prophets, 
 Show them the light and the way, 
 
 Say that old values cannot live 
 In the dawn of our newer day. 
 
 Tell men to fight for freedom. 
 Strength comes as a nation strives ; 
 
 Tell them a strong man will not affirm 
 The least of a tyrant's lies. 
 
 58 
 
Carry this word to your people, 
 For the weak there yawns a grave ; 
 
 Tell them that Lucifer's glorious sin 
 Was refusing to be a slave. 
 
 Tell them that good is not evil, 
 Tell them that fools are not wise ; 
 
 Say that the truths of one nation 
 May be another's lies. 
 
 Teach men to be free spirits. 
 
 As free as I, who know 
 That slaves must bear the burdens, 
 
 Must reap what tyrants sow. 
 
 59 
 
TO MUSIC 
 
 WHISPER to me of unreached goals, 
 Of dreams to end in ecstasy, 
 Of colors mad, conglomerate, 
 
 That have uncertain hue; 
 Of charms and lures, of promises fulfilled, 
 
 Ideas that soar and sweep immensity. 
 Chaotic, mystic, but magnificent. 
 
 Whisper again of things I seek in vain. 
 Hard silence brings reality, and pain. 
 
 60 
 
PRAYER OF AN EGOIST 
 
 MAKE me, Ye Gods, an exceptional soul, 
 Grant me a spiritual health; 
 Give me, Ye Gods, the will to believe 
 In all as in myself. 
 
 Give me, Ye Gods, the courage 
 
 To live without disgust, 
 Elbow to elbow with a slave, 
 
 (Gloved fingers in the dust). 
 
 Deliver me, Gods, from democracy, 
 
 (The way to the heights is clear), 
 Deliver me, Gods, from sympathy 
 And tyranny of fear. 
 
 Teach me. Ye Gods, true values, 
 
 (On lofty mountains I stand), 
 Show me, Ye Gods, reality, 
 
 Make me a superman. 
 
 61 
 
MARIQUITA 
 
 WHEN I first saw Mariquita 
 She was seventeen, and sweeter 
 Than the dulces that she offered me, you know ; 
 I told her she was stunning, 
 And that soon I'd be returning 
 
 To the tropic land where red naranjas grow. 
 
 Oh, that girl, my Mariquita, 
 I never found one neater, 
 
 With any grace or charm that she did lack; 
 In northern lands I traveled. 
 While fifteen years unraveled, 
 
 Before I had a chance to beat it back. 
 
 She had changed, had Mariquita, 
 And her man had likely beat her, 
 
 For her nose had sorter overspread her face; 
 She was dirty, she was flabby, 
 Her scanty clothes were shabby, 
 
 And she'd aged like other women of her race. 
 
 When I then saw Mariquita 
 You may bet I didn't meet her 
 
 Selling " Dulces of Celaya " in the street ; 
 
 62 
 
She was thirty-two and fatter, 
 And I couldn't stand the latter, 
 
 For she wobbled like a walrus on her feet. 
 
 You guys with Mariquitas, 
 Haunting parks like lotus eaters, 
 
 Remember how they change in later life; 
 If you're feeling hunches, stop it, 
 Shut your eyes, my son, and drop it. 
 
 Beat it home, my boy, and get yourself a wife. 
 
 63 
 
GYPSY SONG 
 
 WE carry a load on the open road, 
 Cares you have, have we; 
 Yet fine and rare is the salt-tanged air 
 That blows in from the sea. 
 
 Our hearts are rife with love and life, 
 
 And beaten roads lead far ; 
 The roads are home for we who roam, 
 
 Born under our patron's star. 
 
 We still know fear and it's not clear 
 
 Why fate must drive us on ; 
 There's thought of tomorrow, cares and sorrow. 
 Our life's not all a song. 
 
 We enjoy the hour but bow to more power 
 
 Than that of wind and rain ; 
 We trade and we deal, and buy more than steal 
 
 What we need of ripened grain. 
 
 When the moon swings low we come and go, 
 Poor tramps that pass in the night, 
 
 Yet there's tax to pay and laws that say 
 What's wrong and what is right. 
 
 64 
 
On a silvery night when stars are bright 
 Beauty surrounds like a flood ; 
 
 And on the road, though we bear our load, 
 We cherish our gypsy blood. 
 
 65 
 
A PRAYER 
 
 I ASK not forgiveness, Lord, nor health, 
 Nor strength nor mercy at Thy hand ; 
 But grant me faith, sincere and true , 
 Faith in my fellowman. 
 
 I see, O Lord, the wonder of Thy work; 
 
 I question not the purpose nor the plan ; 
 Just give me faith in children of the world, 
 
 Faith in my fellowman. 
 
 66 
 
THE DEVIL'S PLAN 
 
 H 
 
 t4TT0! Ho!" cried the Devil, 
 " Things seek their level, 
 
 I have found God's buried gold. 
 I will teach man to mine it, 
 To coin it and prize it, 
 
 Above his immortal soul." 
 
 When the tempter so v^ise 
 Held aloft this prize, 
 
 Men came and saw and fell. 
 " Ho ! Ho ! " cried the Devil, 
 "With God's own metal 
 
 I will people my kingdom of hell. 
 
 " I will win the poor fools 
 With their Lord's own tools. 
 
 And make men subjects of mine ; 
 Their souls will be won 
 And the Father and Son 
 
 Will be tricked as in Adam's time." 
 
 "The people think wrong 
 But a herd is strong. 
 
 And rules the few with a rod ; 
 I have played to win, 
 That the Devil of sin 
 
 May yet be the Holy God." 
 
WE DREAMERS 
 
 WE are the dreamers of dreams, 
 Whiling the years away, 
 The tenderest dreams we have 
 Are born of our saddest day. 
 
 Like receding waters of old, 
 Tempting our souls to the end; 
 
 Like forbidden fruit we behold 
 The crying needs of men. 
 
 68 
 
FREE LOVE 
 
 WE met today. 
 Bowed down I walk in pain ; 
 No mad desire or bitterness it is, 
 But spells of old emotions play, 
 And make low, husky, trembling speech. 
 Hot hands, dry lips, and misty eyes. 
 
 We met today, 
 
 And love so long thought dead 
 Stirred, as to prove its dormancy 
 
 Was waiting only for a little word 
 To make it flash to burning heat again, 
 
 To make a wreck of hope I've built upon. 
 
 We met today. 
 
 And passed with nod and smile. 
 Indifferent, so carelessly we smiled; 
 
 Yet slow I walk and struggle for control, 
 To crush anew what cannot be denied. 
 
 To rise above a longing I must hide. 
 
 We met today. 
 
 So casual none could see 
 This heart-ache and misery of ours ; 
 
 With time perhaps, perhaps forgetfulness, 
 Until we pass again with nod and smile, 
 
 To pay the price for what they say is free. 
 69 
 
PERFECT LAWS 
 
 THERE are Laws of Life and Love, 
 I Never Loss without a Gain, 
 And Light has ever Shadow, 
 As Pleasure speaks of Pain. 
 
 There are Laws of Time and Space, 
 Never Growth without Decay, 
 
 For every Good there's Evil, 
 For every Night, a Day. 
 
 70 
 
BIRDS OF FAR PASSAGE 
 
 BOBOLINK! Bobolink! 
 Singing in springtime, 
 Rippling and jolly 
 
 In the far north; 
 Gay-colored, brilliant, 
 
 While you are nesting. 
 Drab as the sparrow 
 As summer comes on. 
 
 Bobolink ! Bobolink ! 
 
 Birds of far passage, 
 When colored as sparrows 
 
 Known as reed birds; 
 And in the autumn, 
 
 There in the rice fields, 
 Feeding in Georgia, 
 
 Known as rice birds. 
 
 Bobolink ! Bobolink ! 
 
 From Nova Scotia, 
 Stopping in rice fields 
 
 On your way south; 
 Gone to a refuge. 
 
 South of the Amazon, 
 Bobolink ! Bobolink ! 
 
 Winter has come. 
 
 71 
 
TO A MOUNTAIN GIRL 
 
 THOSE eyes! Those eyes! 
 Deep and true and clear and gray, 
 Where mysteries dwell and love lights play, 
 
 Eyes that haunt by night and day, 
 Soft and tender, wistful, or gay. 
 
 Voicing thoughts your lips would say. 
 
 Those eyes ! Those eyes ! 
 
 Showing your soul in every plight, 
 Golden with love or wide with fright, 
 
 Dull in despair, or flashing bright 
 As they sweep from valley to mountain height, 
 
 Eyes that can lure to wrong or right. 
 
 Those eyes ! Those eyes ! 
 
 Too true and frank to practice art, 
 Too slow to drop or quick to dart, 
 
 Tearful or startled they stare or start, 
 Eyes that have never assumed a part. 
 
 Eyes that mirror your inmost heart. 
 
 72 
 
THE CASTANETS 
 
 I'VE heard the Russians singing 
 As they swung by Chinese walls, 
 And felt my soul go winging 
 With the yellow bugle calls. 
 
 I've heard the tom-toms beating 
 In the mystic, purple East, 
 
 And flute notes faintly reaching 
 To the desert from the street. 
 
 I've heard old banjos thumping 
 Negro tunes no one forgets, 
 
 But sounds that set me dreaming 
 Come from the castanets. 
 
 73 
 
ENCELADUS 
 
 SOME poet said, Enceladtis is dead. 
 That titan lives, though God confines 
 Such mighty, individual souls as his. 
 
 Live on, brave rebel, strive on to the last, 
 Unconquered, bold as in the ages past; 
 
 Work at thy fetters with thy super strength, 
 Heave hard, stand forth, and seek the heights ; 
 Find God again, defy, and claim thy rights. 
 
 74 
 
GO, AND SIN NO MORE 
 
 DO not despair, my sister, though you sin, 
 Whatever one loses one may win; 
 The angels in heaven sinned and many fell. 
 While a crucified thief was saved from hell. 
 
 Do not despair, my daughter, just be strong; 
 
 The ones who are right are weak if never wrong. 
 
 You sold your body for a price in gold, 
 
 Which bought from Judas a saint's immortal soul. 
 
 Be ever strong, my sister, clean and brave; 
 Who sees the saint must also see the slave; 
 Remember, sister, what the master said before, 
 " Go thou, my daughter ; go, and sin no more." 
 
 7S 
 
THE COWMAN IS FED-UP 
 
 I SAY I'm fed-up on the spectacled highbrows 
 Who parade with the women and spill all the 
 beans, 
 Organizers of clubs to advance truth and culture, 
 Who collect up the dues and leave 'em some dreams. 
 
 And too I'm fed-up on your gold-tipped society, 
 Where the lion of an evening is really an ass, 
 
 Where women forget what apparel was made for, 
 And babies, Lord help us, are things of the past. 
 
 And, more, I'm fed-up on your rare art exhibits, 
 Where you can't tell a forest from storms on the sea; 
 
 But the people mill in, pretending they like it. 
 The whole crowd at large, when they oughtn't to be. 
 
 I'm also fed-up on the school of free poetry. 
 But the best people like it, and so I have read 
 
 What brings to my mind one hombre's mad ravings. 
 When stampeding cattle had kicked-in his head. 
 
 I'm herding with folks who have strayed from the pas- 
 ture, 
 
 And a question arises and sure troubles me : 
 What must a man do to be adjudged crazy? 
 
 Who goes to asylums when such folks are free? 
 
 % 
 
ON A RING 
 
 A GIRL of sentiment was she 
 Who gave this little gift to me, 
 A tiny band of purest gold, 
 A ring she wore when three years old. 
 
 And I swear that I will cherish 
 Till my fondest memories perish, 
 
 The sentiment and the token 
 Of her sometime tender love. 
 
 77 
 
FROM AN IVORY TOWER 
 
 MY lips once whispered love to you, 
 My hot hands stroked your hair, 
 But I never spoke of marriage; 
 How could I, a dreamer, care? 
 
 You said you would love me ever, 
 As long as your heart had life; 
 
 I know how well you meant that. 
 Though you are another's wife. 
 
 For I went the way of a dreamer, 
 Down rose-colored paths to my soul. 
 
 And I built me an ivory tower, 
 In a garden of pearl and gold. 
 
 And now in my ivory tower 
 I dream through the lonely morns; 
 
 My garden is fresh with roses, 
 I gather and feel the thorns. 
 
 And you also are weeping. 
 Though strong and brave and true ; 
 
 For your heart would reach the tower. 
 And my garden agleam in the dew. 
 
 78 
 
This, then, is the old, sad story 
 Of a love that will not die ; 
 
 But we both prize honor and duty, 
 Though it means to live a lie. 
 
 Behold here the way of a dreamer, 
 The way of a selfish soul, 
 
 To build his house of heart-aches 
 And call it pearl and gold. 
 
 79 
 
THE MEXICAN WEST COAST 
 
 OLD church of Nuestra Senora, Moorish, Persian- 
 domed, grey; 
 White beach, green palms, plazas, bright sky, and 
 Guaymas bay; 
 Off to the east the Sierras, snow-capped, color-mad, 
 bold, 
 The seal brown of the foothills a setting of ham- 
 mered gold. 
 
 Cathedral bells and music, soft borne on perfumed air, 
 
 Metal-tongued muezzins calling to vespers and to 
 
 prayer ; 
 
 Blue sky and cobalt water, quaint little port of San 
 
 Bias; 
 
 Gold-laced toreadors, peons, pearl divers from La Paz. 
 
 A brown old tramp at anchor, a steamer ablaze with 
 light, 
 Ship's bells, oar locks creaking, " La Paloma " — and 
 the night. 
 Bright plaza, vari-hued blankets, castanets, dancers, 
 love; 
 The joy of life is living, warm blood, warm sky above. 
 
 8d. 
 
The low Spanish-Moorish houses, the Cora pueblas up 
 higher 
 Where dwell the bearded Indios, devout as their 
 catholic friar; 
 Goats, donkeys, parrots, flowers, birds, sunshine, chil- 
 dren at play; 
 Perpetual summer, lotus land, dream night and per- 
 fect day. 
 
 8l 
 
A SEA GRAVE 
 
 THIS is a story a sailor told me, 
 A sailor we buried out at sea 
 His race and name I never knew, 
 
 It may be false or it may be true, 
 But such as it is I write for you. 
 
 My story is old and was never told, 
 For it touches a sovereign line : 
 
 I was the son of the guilty one, 
 But the blame of it all was mine. 
 
 I did not care the guilt to share, 
 But shouldered the disgrace ; 
 
 The blame was laid, the price was paid 
 When I fled from the royal place. 
 
 The end has come and all is done, 
 And life will go by tomorrow; 
 
 On the sea I roam, I'll die unknown. 
 And take to the grave my sorrow. 
 
 Here on my breast leave when I rest 
 This emblem of deeds I've done ; 
 
 Don't take it away but let it stay, 
 It's a war cross that I won. 
 
 82 
 
There are none to cry when cold I lie 
 Where shame and the winds have driven, 
 
 And the prince so black cannot go back 
 Though crowns of the world be given. 
 
 Few will miss and none will kiss, 
 No one will mourn for me; 
 No bell shall toll, my lonely soul 
 Will ship on another sea. 
 
 On the rocky reefs that down in the deeps 
 Are the resting place of the dead, 
 
 I will find a place and pillow my face, 
 And sleep on a coral bed. 
 
 83 
 
THUS I WOULD BUILD 
 
 I WOULD build 
 A vast house on lofty mountains ; 
 Neither temple, pagoda, nor church; 
 
 More sacred still. 
 I would build without a doubt. 
 Without a creed for men to heed 
 
 I would build 
 My vast house, my mighty dome, 
 
 On lofty mountains. 
 I would build for all who will. 
 
 Freedom's sacred fane. 
 
 84 
 
A TOAST 
 
 RED is the wine, and my glass overflowing 
 I hold aloft for a toast ; 
 Gone are the old, but the new friends are coming. 
 And I am to play the host. 
 
 Red is the wine, deep-hued and sparkling. 
 
 Strong as my faith in the new ; 
 I filled up my cup as the old friends were going, 
 
 And I drink, new friends, to you. 
 
 85