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 LIGHT £? MIS' 
 
 KATHARINE ADAMS 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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LIGHT and MIST 
 
 A Book of Lyrics 
 
LIGHT and MIST 
 
 By 
 
 KATHARINE ADAMS 
 n 
 
 Author of "An Irish Day and other Poemj' 
 
 THE CORNHILL COMPANY 
 BOSTON 
 
Copyright 1918 
 By The Cornhill Company 
 
 9V 
 
 OCT -9 !SiR 
 ©aA50;j770 
 
 "-"V-vX* \ 
 
TO 
 
 A. R. W. 
 
The author wishes to thank the editors of 
 the following periodicals for permission to in- 
 clude in this volume poems which originally- 
 appeared in their pages: Contemporary Verse ^ 
 The Delineator, the American Scandinavian 
 Review, The Touchstone, the Boston Evening 
 Transcript, The Columbia Literary Monthly, 
 the Buffalo Express, and Otir Dumb Animals. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Sea Path 1 
 
 Light and Mist 2 
 
 The Little Town 3 
 
 Wistfulness 4 
 
 Joy in the Wood 5 
 
 A Fog Land 6 
 
 London 7 
 
 My Dream Child 8 
 
 Little Lad 9 
 
 An Irish Day 10 
 
 The Butterfly 11 
 
 February in Ireland 12 
 
 At Dawn 13 
 
 Questioning 14 
 
 "LaVeille — EtApres" 15 
 
 In the Shadows 16 
 
 Longing 17 
 
 Light 18 
 
 Down in the Glen 19 
 
 Echo 20 
 
 The Trumphet Vine 22 
 
 The Blind Girls 23 
 
 The Irish Soldiers 24 
 
 Whispering Leaves 25 
 
 Swedish Midsummer Night 26 
 
 On the Road to St. Gatiens 27 
 
 Irish Spring 28 
 
 My Little House 30 
 
 An Irish Garden 31 
 
 Loneliness 32 
 
 The Hunt 33 
 
 A Phantom Sail 34 
 
PAGE 
 
 A Wishing Well 35 
 
 Red Rose 36 
 
 My Room 37 
 
 To Sydney 38 
 
 Howth 39 
 
 Color 40 
 
 " The Face of Esther " 41 
 
 Which 42 
 
 Shan O'Inchichore 43 
 
 A Star Lit Hour 44 
 
 The Devil's Glen 45 
 
 The Friends 46 
 
 Christmas Eve 47 
 
 "The Mist" 48 
 
A SEA PATH 
 
 O LITTLE lonely path close where the 
 sea lies sleeping, 
 Do you still lead on through the lovely 
 night, 
 Above the moon-touched mists so slowly 
 creeping, 
 Do jou still glimmer in the opal light? 
 
 I wonder, little path, are you still trailing 
 Close to the rain-swept, white-rimmed, 
 restless sea. 
 That through the brooding air is softly 
 wailing 
 Some of its unspoken mystery. 
 
 O, path sea strewn by angry wind's last 
 gleaming. 
 Are ancient towers above still watching 
 near 
 And faint and far a sea gull's lonely keening 
 O, little rugged path, forever dear? 
 
 If through the silent night you still are 
 gleaming. 
 Keep all your secrets from the silver sea, 
 As once you did when two of us walked 
 dreaming 
 Of dear and lovely things that could not 
 be. 
 
 1 
 
LIGHT AND MIST 
 
 THE glamour of the City is calling with 
 its lure, 
 It is calling with its clamour and its light; 
 But the mist that's lying softly o'er a lonely 
 
 Irish moor 
 Seems nearer than the City's call tonight. 
 
 The brilliance of the City is shining like a 
 
 star, 
 It is shining bright as incense at a shrine; 
 But the glimmer of the peat fire in an island 
 
 land afar 
 Shines deeper far within this soul of mine. 
 
THE LITTLE TOWN 
 
 BELGIUM — 1914 
 
 '' I ^HERE is a Town now gray and sad, 
 
 -*- Where children used to play, 
 And peasant girls so gayly clad 
 Would sing upon their way. 
 
 There is a Tow^n, now still and dead, 
 Where Flemish children smiled — 
 
 Since then the sunshine sweet has fled 
 With every little child. 
 
WISTFULNESS 
 
 I COULD not see the land 
 The mist lay all too deep — 
 O, you who understand, 
 Child, do not weep. 
 
 I did not hear the bell 
 That sounded from the shore, 
 But in my soul a knell 
 Sounding ever more. 
 
 I shall not come to you 
 
 Back from the sad world's pain 
 
 Or see the dreaming blue 
 
 Of your eyes again. 
 
 You sing your evening song 
 There in the candle light — 
 Oh, but the hours lay long 
 Out in the night! 
 
JOY IN THE WOOD 
 
 WE made a driftwood fire, 
 You and I. 
 Where forest birds were dreaming, 
 And a bad brown owl was scheming, 
 As a baby star was gleaming, 
 Soft and sh}'. 
 
 The gray mist smoke grew gold, 
 
 Gold and blue. 
 And the thrilling shadows creeping, 
 Where the jeweled flames were leaping. 
 Brought the dreams of wood birds sleeping 
 
 Close to you. 
 
 We heard a night lark call 
 
 Far and clear. 
 And the answer's deep confessing, 
 Soothed by silence sweet, caressing. 
 Brought the wonder of God's blessing 
 
 Very near. 
 
A FOG LAND 
 
 THERE'S a fair land, a fog land far 
 away — 
 Such weary leagues between of tossing 
 sea — 
 It's sun-touched and dew-kissed and gray, 
 And oh, it is so precious dear to me! 
 
 'Tis a strange land, a bog land over there, 
 And it holds a wondrous wealth of mystery. 
 
 'Tis dream-like and fairy-like and rare, 
 And it calls — it fairly calls my heart from 
 me. 
 
 'Tis a green land, a gold land in the sea, 
 And it knows a w^orld of tears and joy and 
 light; 
 
 Sure, it's where I'm longing, longing so to be. 
 Ah, I know that God is blessing it tonight! 
 
LONDON 
 
 TWO of us— 
 And the gray and black shadows 
 Of London, 
 Mist touched, mysterious, 
 Sad figures at the crossings. 
 Misery ! 
 Insistent cry of voices, 
 Boys' young voices calling news. 
 Sheltered lights, 
 
 The silent grief of Britain for her dead. 
 Touching the City. 
 Then suddenly 
 Trafalgar Square, 
 Silver shrouded, 
 The face of Nelson, 
 And in our eyes tears 
 And in our hearts, 
 I know not why — 
 Peace. 
 
MY DREAM CHILD 
 
 QOMETIMES through the shadows gray, 
 ^ As the fire burns low, 
 From the dusk my dream child comes 
 Timidly and slow. 
 
 Often, in the twilight dim, 
 Close to me she stands, 
 Smiles at me and strokes my face 
 With her dimpled hands. 
 
 Sweet and wistful is her smile, 
 Bonny brown her hair, 
 And her eyes shine deeply blue 
 In the firelight there. 
 
 Then 1 hold her closely, 
 Rock her to and fro. 
 Whisper words of tenderness 
 And she answers low. 
 
 Just as she seems dearest 
 And her eyelids close 
 And I think her sleeping. 
 My little dream child goes. 
 
 Creeping through the shadows dim 
 In the evening gray. 
 Never looking back at me, 
 So she slips away. 
 
 8 
 
LITTLE LAD 
 
 ONE still September day you ran to irie 
 High up a hill where I was waitioi^ 
 3'ou. 
 How gold your hair gleamed in the sun 
 And oh, your eyes — so blue, so blue! 
 
 Your head held back to breathe the autumn 
 
 air, 
 Your arm flung round me and your eager 
 
 smile — 
 How precious is this thought of you to keep, 
 Now that you have left me for awhile. 
 
 They tell me when you climbed that other 
 
 hill- 
 Was it but one brief month ago ? 
 You held j^our head thrown back to breathe 
 
 the air 
 And your young soldier face was all aglow 
 
 As though you saw, beyond the hill's high 
 
 crest. 
 Some joy too deep to tell, a sign 
 As tho' there waited for you there 
 A greater love than mine. 
 
AN IRISH DAY 
 
 SHADOWS and fairy mist-like gray, 
 Stillness, joy half touched with pain, 
 Ah, it was an Irish, Irish day 
 That cannot come again. 
 
 Violets and a gentle shower of rain, 
 Primroses in darkest corners hidden. 
 
 All along an Irish country lane — 
 
 Tears come to my longing eyes, unbidden. 
 
 Twilight and the shadows deeper creeping 
 Through the gray a glimpse of golden 
 furze. 
 
 All the flowers and treetops sleeping, 
 Just a faint breeze softly stirs. 
 
 Turf fires, and the far-off call 
 
 Of sheep, and in my memory 
 I still can feel the magic of it all 
 
 In dream-like ecstasy. 
 
 10 
 
THE BUTTERFLY 
 
 TT^RAIL wings, gold wings, 
 -■- I found you where the sea 
 Had tossed you in its heedlessness, 
 And thrown you close to me. 
 
 Rose wings, black wings 
 Swept with angel blue. 
 Seeing your dear helpfulness, 
 My heart went out to 3^ou. 
 
 Frayed wings, sad wings. 
 Love has set you free 
 As you flutter from my hands 
 Through God's Eternity. 
 
 For E. A. J. 
 
 Point AbinOj Canada. 
 Sept. I2th, 1917. 
 
 11 
 
FEBRUARY IN IRELAND 
 
 "O J^OWN bogs and silver pools that dream, 
 ■*-' Lying softly deep and dim 
 With shadows, pools that gleam, 
 And a young moon pale and slim. 
 
 Birds that sing so soon, you say? 
 Though faded is the golden gorse 
 And heather moors are sad and gray 
 After their fiery days — remorse. 
 
 Black trees by winds swept stark and clean, 
 Golden bracken, tangled, wet, 
 And a flash of vivid green — 
 The Irish green who can forget. 
 
 In the woods a carpet faint and blue, 
 Violets that feebly fling 
 Their scent through all the evening dew. 
 Telling of the wonder — Spring! 
 
 12 
 
AT DAWN 
 
 LILT of the thrush at dawn, 
 Still is the air and cool; 
 A young and timid fawn 
 
 Stood by a flower-rimmed pool. 
 
 Startled, with throat held high, 
 
 Through the peaceful wood a sound 
 
 Sharp, and a shot flies by, 
 A crash, a cry and a bound! 
 
 Lilt of the thrush at dawn, 
 
 Innocence lying dead, 
 Shot through the heart, a fawn — 
 
 Sky in the East blood red! 
 
 The air is cool and still, 
 
 Softly the love-birds sing; 
 Dear God, how could men kill 
 
 So gentle and young a thing! 
 
 13 
 
QUESTIONING 
 
 "r\ O )^ou remember 
 ^^ How fantastic were the shadows 
 In the silver silence 
 Of the night, 
 And how the seaweed seemed alive 
 Upon the beach? 
 Do 5'ou still see 
 The first faint gleam 
 Of dawn, 
 And hear the crooning cry 
 Of the sea-mew? 
 Do you remember 
 How you turned to me, 
 With 5'our smile. 
 Whimsically wondering 
 If somewhere, 
 Sometime, 
 In some dream-haunted space 
 
 Beyond this life, 
 We two again should walk 
 In the silence, 
 Through the shadows 
 Towards the daw^n? 
 
 14 
 
''LA VEILLE— ET APRES" 
 
 w 
 
 ILD popples, 
 Pink in the sunset, 
 Golden wheat and the flicker of leaves; 
 Wild lilies 
 That dream in the moonlight, 
 Pale in their beauty and peace that deceives. 
 Wild poppies, 
 Crushed into fragments, 
 Wheat that is trodden, faces that stare; 
 Wild lilies- 
 Flower of the Christ Child — 
 Trampled and crimson, 
 
 Yet breathing a prayer. 
 
 15 
 
IN THE SHADOWS 
 
 T N the shadows she was dancing, 
 ■■- All in gray, 
 
 Like a fay, 
 Heart of me! she was entrancing. 
 
 In the shadows she w^as swaying, 
 
 Slow and light, 
 
 As a sprite, 
 Light and shade around her playing. 
 
 In the shadows she was singing, 
 
 Soft and low. 
 
 To and fro. 
 As she danced I heard her singing. 
 
 In the shadows I was dreaming, 
 
 Of this pearl. 
 
 This gray-clad girl, 
 Rainbow hopes around me gleaming. 
 
 16 
 
LONGING 
 
 HE went away from me 
 And as he closed the gate, 
 He smiled. 
 And then I knew, I know not why, 
 
 He w^oiild not come again — 
 But the smile stays and flutters at my heart. 
 
 Autumn dajs are here again 
 Smoke-filled air, listless flying leaves, 
 Garden paths grown gray, 
 News of recent victories. 
 
 Yet he is gone — 
 But In the late twilight 
 I sometimes think I see him smiling 
 At the gate. 
 
 17 
 
LIGHT 
 
 THE child was blind, but dearly sweet, 
 She could not speak, yet she was fair, 
 I used to guide her faltering feet 
 
 Through easy paths, but night was there. 
 
 She could not see the golden sun, 
 Or tell me of her thoughts, or sing. 
 
 Or know how wondrous tasks are done, 
 Or hear the night bird's echo ring. 
 
 But one most wondrous star-bright night 
 The soul in her dull eyes awoke ; 
 
 Christ gave to her the gift of Sight, 
 God's angel touched her, and she spoke. 
 
 18 
 
DOWN IN THE GLEN 
 
 T^OWN In the glen 
 
 •*^ Through the silence of the leaves, 
 
 Listen ! 
 You will hear, 
 Softly clear, 
 
 Music, 
 And see glisten 
 
 Silver wings. 
 
 Something sings 
 Down In the glen. 
 
 Down In the glen 
 
 In the wonder of the night, 
 
 Hearken ! 
 By the cool silent pool, 
 Shadows, as they darken, 
 
 See the gleam 
 
 Of a dream 
 Down in the glen. 
 
 Down In the glen 
 
 Where the moonlight weaves a path. 
 
 Follow — 
 You will see, 
 In ecstasy, 
 
 19 
 
Fairies dancing in the hollow 
 
 Of a tree, 
 
 Merrily, 
 Down in the glen. 
 
 For Little Mary. 
 
 20 
 
ECHO 
 
 ONE time I stood high in a dim green 
 twilight and I heard, 
 Deep in the valley, a sad call of children's 
 
 last good-night, 
 Then the sleep}^ twitter of a dreaming bird 
 And everywhere a waning wistfulness of light. 
 Gray were the clouds with no faint touch of 
 
 crimson fire, 
 The frail, late moon of coming made no 
 
 silver sign, 
 Opal stars, undaunted of their sweet desire, 
 Faintly in palest tw^ilight dared to shine. 
 And, as I watched, the west at last was 
 
 touched with flame 
 And stars grew gold as though from joy of 
 
 answered prayer; 
 I know not why but suddenly I called my 
 
 name 
 As I stood on the lonely hilltop there. 
 And from the far, dim vales of mystery 
 A once loved voice called back my name to 
 
 me. 
 
 21 
 
THE TRUMPET VINE 
 
 Tj^ORGET-ME-NOTS are praying sweet 
 
 -■- and bluey gray, 
 
 Brown and golden wallflowers whisper fairy 
 
 lore ; 
 But fiercely holding fast the kiss of burning 
 
 sun 
 A scarlet flame is trailing above the cottage 
 
 door. 
 
 Proud and strong and sturdy, knowing not 
 of fear. 
 
 Beauty breathing fragrance as gleams the 
 crimson wine. 
 
 Friend of vagrant bees and the love of hum- 
 ming birds. 
 
 Sways the fearful beauty of the blazing 
 Trumpet Vine. 
 
 22 
 
THE BLIND GIRLS 
 
 TN a long room they are weaving — 
 
 •*■ Rose and blue and gold, 
 Green and gray and mauve 
 Are the colors that they weave — 
 
 And the sunshine gilds the room, 
 
 But they do not see the sunshine. 
 
 In a long room they are weaving 
 And their wistful faces 
 Bend above their shuttles. 
 
 Visitors pass by them speaking softly; 
 
 Looking down with eyes of pity. 
 
 Something brighter than the colors 
 And the sunshine, 
 
 Something deeper than the pity 
 Of the strangers, 
 
 Seems to hold the room in Silence 
 
 And enfold it with protection. 
 
 23 
 
THE IRISH SOLDIERS 
 
 Tj^ROM the rough and rocky clijffs of Don- 
 -*- egal 
 
 To the green and shady valleys down in 
 Clare, 
 They are going, going forward, each and all, 
 The share in their dear Empire's pain to 
 bear. 
 
 With smiles of hope and cheery Irish song, 
 Ever looking straight before them to the 
 fight. 
 They are swinging, swinging off to crush the 
 wrong 
 And to help and have and hold and keep 
 the Right. 
 
 From the wonder of their dreamy Island land 
 To the awful heat and horror of the strife, 
 
 With a courage very fine and very grand, 
 They are giving, giving, every man his life. 
 
 And the glorj- of the splendid sacrifice 
 
 Shall shine through all the ages yet to be, 
 
 And the sun shall tell through weeping Irish 
 skies 
 It is living, living through Eternity. 
 
 24 
 
WHISPERING LEAVES 
 
 T EAVES were whispering in the night, 
 -'— ' Long ago on a Terrace high, 
 Fireflies flickered their greenish light, 
 In that hour of my life gone by. 
 
 Joy will come with the changing years, 
 Life her wonderful pattern weaves. 
 
 But I shall remember through mists of tears 
 The whispering of the leaves. 
 
 25 
 
SWEDISH MIDSUMMER NIGHT 
 
 WONDER— 
 Silence of midnight! 
 Where are the stars? 
 Hidden in flame, 
 In gold and ameth)'st, 
 In crimson and bronze. 
 The sk}' is fearful 
 
 In its beauty. 
 Through the narrow waterways 
 
 Boats glide, 
 
 White boats, 
 Out to the opal sea 
 With its shadows of blue — 
 A sea touched with fire. 
 Purple black are the pines 
 
 On the shore 
 
 And the rocks 
 
 Gleam as silver. 
 
 There is music — 
 Voices singing "Du gamla du friska!" 
 And the green mystery — 
 
 The message 
 Of the Northern Lights. 
 
 26 
 
ON THE ROAD TO ST. GATIEN'S 
 
 T 
 
 HE rush of the wind and the curlew's 
 
 cry, 
 
 The clear, silver twist of the stream, 
 A comforting glimpse of the star-lit sk}^ 
 And the hush of the flowers that dream. 
 
 The old, dear house and the gate in sight, 
 A fragrance of roses, the sweet far call 
 
 Of sleepy wood things all saying good-night. 
 And love broods over it all. 
 
 For M. L. 
 
 11 
 
IRISH SPRING 
 
 IT is fairy time in Ireland 
 In the Spring, 
 With the golden hush of starshine on the hill. 
 Gleaming veils of silver dew, 
 Mystic shadow^s soft and blue, 
 Oh, it's wondertime in Ireland 
 In the Spring. 
 
 My heart flies far to Ireland 
 
 In the Spring, 
 With the silence of its secrets still untold. 
 Flowering may, rose, pink and white, 
 Fairies dancing in the night. 
 It is magic time in Ireland 
 
 In the Spring. 
 
 It is dreaming time in Ireland 
 
 In the Spring, 
 
 With the fields of cowslips gleaming in the 
 
 sun. 
 
 And the tender fragile sheen 
 
 Of the softest, palest green 
 
 Of the leaves that bud in Ireland 
 
 In the Spring. 
 
 1 
 
 O, God keep Ireland safe through 
 All the Spring! 
 
 28 
 
It is her holy time in all the year. 
 Violets blue and primrose frail, 
 Columbine and lilies pale, 
 Breathe peace and love to Ireland 
 In the Spring. 
 
 29 
 
MY LITTLE HOUSE 
 
 NO one knows my little house, 
 No one but me; 
 I have fashioned it myself 
 And moulded the key. 
 
 Windows wide to hold the light, 
 
 Little doorstep too — 
 Roof of tangled roses wild, 
 
 Silver pink with dew. 
 
 Just a little, little house — 
 
 Will it come true? 
 Let me take you to my heart 
 
 And show it to you. 
 
 30 
 
AN IRISH GARDEN 
 
 I SAW a garden on a summer night; 
 Crimson roses sweet, and touched with 
 dew, 
 Winding paths and wondrous mystic light, 
 Silence, and a rose-touched wind that blew. 
 
 I saw a garden on a summer night; 
 
 The flowers and trees in moonlight silver 
 gleamed. 
 Larkspur blue and lilies pure and white. 
 
 Through the gentle darkness idly dreamed. 
 
 I loved a garden on a summer night 
 
 And breathed the scent of roses growing 
 there. 
 Through the dusk and shadows I found light, 
 Love and peace were round me, every- 
 where. 
 
 For F, P. 
 
 Priorslandj Carricmines, Ireland 
 
 31 
 
LONELINESS 
 
 pATHS that wind through the dreaming 
 -■- gorse, 
 
 Winding on to the far away 
 Where the deep rose of the heather hills 
 Fades to the heart of the evening gray; 
 There where the dreams of the long ago 
 Whisper as they go wandering by 
 And the rise and fall of the purple moor 
 Fades to the edge of a starless sky, 
 Loneliness — 
 
 n 
 
THE HUNT 
 
 ^ i^ HE wind was still and the sky was gray, 
 -*- The air was filled with the morning 
 sweet 
 And the hunting coats were scarlet and gay. 
 Laughter was there and friends to greet, 
 The pack aquiver, the horn's last call, 
 A wood creature's heart beating high with 
 
 dread, 
 What is the end and aim of it all? 
 Only a small gray rabbit dead 
 Worn and torn she was lying there — 
 And they said that day that the hunt was 
 fair. 
 
 33 
 
A PHANTOM SAIL 
 
 TF from the dim and silent sea, 
 
 "*- The miles of misty sea seen through the 
 
 gloom, 
 You could come sailing back to me 
 Prom your wonderful grave in the sea's green 
 tomb, 
 
 If just at twilight as the world seems sleeping, 
 Far off I saw j^ou in some shadowy boat 
 And nearer, even nearer, you came creeping, 
 Floating as the water-lilies float; 
 
 Until you reached the strand, and close beside 
 
 me 
 Anchored your frail craft and whispered low 
 That you had come from depths of mystery. 
 Because you knew on earth I loved you so; 
 
 I should bid you to sail back from me, 
 No phantom sign of you could give me rest, 
 But rather would I hold the memory 
 Of your deep love that made my life so blest. 
 
 34 
 
A WISHING WELL 
 
 DEEP in the heart of a fairy dell, 
 Far from the world and men, 
 I know a moss-grown wishing well, 
 Safe in a primrose glen. 
 
 Many a secret whispered there, 
 Many a wish breathed low. 
 
 Many a hope and a promise fair, 
 With only the well to know. 
 
 35 
 
RED ROSE 
 
 "VT'OU said that I was a rose 
 -*- Just a red, red rose to you, 
 One time as we strayed through a sunny lane 
 In the way that we used to do. 
 
 And so when the rain beats ceaselessly 
 And the chill of the keen wind blows, 
 I think of the magical sun-touched day, 
 When you told me I was a rose. 
 
 36 
 
MY ROOM 
 
 I HAVE a room in my dreams, 
 A long, turf-scented room, 
 Where in a fire-place flames die low, then leap 
 And gild the golden fur of a cat asleep. 
 Chintz of mauve and rose and gray, 
 A couch drawn near the fire, 
 And curtains of corn-flower blue that sway 
 And bring a message from the Irish moor 
 Outside, and show a glimpse of darkening 
 
 purple. 
 And the strange entrancing lure of the heather. 
 There are roses in my room. 
 Pale pink and gold. 
 And through the wistful tender gloom. 
 Faces of my friends gleam — 
 There are always friends in this room of my 
 dreams. 
 
 For Billy 
 
 37 
 
TO SYDNEY 
 
 A WELL-WORN coat, a pipe, his gun, 
 -^ ^ A letter written just before — 
 Resting now, the warfare done. 
 
 His cheer)^ message comes no more. 
 
 He was a soldier, first and last; 
 
 You're thinking of his sunny smile, 
 Now that his gallant soul has passed. 
 
 And left you wearying, the while. 
 
 He always, always played the game; 
 
 He was so simple and so fine 
 He never even thought of fame. 
 
 The deed he did was half divine. 
 
 He only knew the soldier's part, 
 He braved the awful shell to save 
 
 A black man, and his faithful heart 
 Is stilled deep in a glorious grave. 
 
 {In memory of Captain A. St. J. Go7-e, 
 Gurhka Rifles, killed in action^ June^ IQIS-) 
 
 38 
 
HOWTH 
 
 HEATHER hills of pink and purple red, 
 Gleam of the golden gorse and hum of 
 bees, 
 Blue, pale sky from which the stars have fled — 
 Dawn's first whisper stirs and sways the 
 trees. 
 
 Hungry goats that climb the mountain steep, 
 Gentle bleat of lambkins soft and low. 
 
 The little village waking from its sleep, 
 Deep within the valley far below. 
 
 Ivy-covered, beautiful and cold. 
 
 Wild woods round it, turrets tall and gray, 
 Stands an eerie castle, grim and old. 
 
 Watching for the coming of the day. 
 
 Ruffled sea, green-gray and touched with 
 
 shade. 
 
 Fishing boats red-sailed, the sea-gull's cry. 
 
 And lying near, some jagged rocks have made 
 
 A strange, fantastic Isle called Ireland's 
 
 Eye. 
 
 For Vaudine 
 
 39 
 
COLOR 
 
 GOLD of the swamp, gold of the sky, 
 Scarlet of cardinals flying, 
 Green of the sea, green of the land, 
 Red of the sun's late dying. 
 
 Purple of finches, swish of their wings. 
 Gray little love-birds peeping, 
 
 Bronze of the oriole's burnished breast. 
 Black of the shadows creeping. 
 
 40 
 
"THE FACE OF ESTHER" 
 
 TT^ROM the dusk of a long, dark corridor 
 -*- To the shine of the pale moonlight, 
 A face comes, haunting me evermore, 
 Gaping out into the night. 
 
 And the old French garden seems to be 
 
 Soft in the mystic beams, 
 A phantom garden, under the sky 
 
 A moon-lit vision of dreams. 
 
 Where the shadows are darkest of all, 
 In the corridor's sombre shade. 
 
 There glistens a beam by the moon let fall, 
 A path by the moonlight made. 
 
 And there through the mist of years I see 
 
 A face that is strange and fair, 
 And eyes that are gazing across at me 
 
 From the moon-touched window there. 
 
 O, wondrous face of the long ago, 
 
 O, charm of a by-gone day, 
 O, dream too dear to keep — for lo, 
 
 It fades in the dusk away. 
 
 41 
 
WHICH? 
 
 HERE are emeralds from ancient lands, 
 Do you care for these? 
 
 Or diamonds blue, 
 
 Deep in fairy settings? 
 I have had wrought for you 
 Rare strings of curious beauty 
 
 And an opal girdle, 
 You must wear this peach-blow gown 
 And a wisp of pearl-strewn tissue 
 
 Shall wrap you round. 
 
 This is not jo)' — you say? 
 
 You would rather don your smock of brown 
 
 And your stockings gray 
 
 And wander o'er the hills 
 And by a wild wood fire cook 
 Your evening meal — then dream 
 Of a small clean house and a brook 
 Close by, and children's laughter 
 
 This is joy — you say? 
 
 42 
 
SHAN O' INCHICHORE 
 
 SURE a rare lad, a brave lad, 
 Was Shan o' Inchichore. 
 Minny an auld wife loved the lad, 
 Minny a colleen's heart was sad, 
 
 Whin he wint to the awful war. 
 
 Oh! he danced so gay, he danced so light, 
 
 Young Shan o' Inchichore. 
 He danced on the green of a summer night, 
 He sang home songs in the Irish light, 
 
 Before he wint off to the war. 
 
 Oh! he fought so brave, he fought so well, 
 
 Young Shan o' Inchichore. 
 The auld waives keened a weary knell, 
 The wind sighed sad our grief to tell. 
 
 Whin they killed our Shan, at the war. 
 
 43 
 
A STAR-LIT HOUR 
 
 O TILL in the depths of a star-lit hour, 
 *^ By a lonely sea I stood, 
 And in my soul I felt the power 
 Of infinite love and good. 
 
 Life seemed simple, and calm, and pure, 
 Under the stars, in the moon's pale light, 
 
 And I thought, tho' the world has much to 
 endure. 
 All that is Real is Right. 
 
 Above and beyond all pain and sin 
 
 Is the light of wonderful love. 
 And into my thoughts this love crept in. 
 
 As I gazed at the stars above. 
 
 And I knew that all that is dark and wrong 
 
 Must fade and pass away, 
 And my heart was filled with a joyful song, 
 
 As I watched for the coming day. 
 
 For E. S. 
 
 44 
 
THE DEVIL'S GLEN 
 
 /^H, we were glad as we rode away 
 ^^ From the devil's glen with its paths so 
 
 drear, 
 Dim and grim and edged with fear, 
 And its eerie shadows dark and gray. 
 
 All the air of the fields we quaffed 
 As we fled from the glen with its tears untold 
 Into the dream of a sunset gold, 
 With the wild flowers and wind and trees we 
 laughed. 
 
 Away from the glen with its haunting pain 
 Where secrets of weary ages sleep 
 And silent wraiths of sorrow creep. 
 We ride to the joy of the world again. 
 
 45 
 
THE FRIENDS 
 
 A BOY once played upon the shores of a 
 bay, 
 A boy with wistful eyes, whose name was 
 John. 
 
 And the lark, 
 The singing joy of the world, 
 Came and sang to him, 
 Filling the air with delicate rapture. 
 And always his message was, — 
 
 You have a friend. 
 When the silver mountains were strangely 
 
 clear, 
 And the bay was swept with gold, or in the 
 
 dim twilight, 
 When the blossoms of the fig trees whispered, 
 The boy would stand with his head bowed 
 
 And thankfulness 
 Would breathe from him — 
 The name of his friend was Jesus. 
 
 For P. W. 
 
 46 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE 
 
 To My Father and Mother 
 
 WINDING and weary streets 
 And the cruel jangle of day 
 Still sounding 
 Through the night. 
 Grim and harsh laughter, 
 Then a silence, 
 As from the pasture lands 
 There comes a breath 
 Of dawn. 
 
 Voices of the town — 
 The restless crowded town — 
 Are stilled, 
 And a beggar 
 
 Stops the curse upon his lips 
 And says the moonlight 
 
 Seems so strange, 
 And that the stars 
 
 Are whispering. 
 
 Some murmur that the morrow 
 
 Will dawn clearly, 
 
 For the East is very white. 
 
 There a star 
 
 That holds the beauty 
 
 Of all worlds, is quivering, 
 47 
 
And peace 
 
 Touches the weary, winding streets, 
 
 And the restless jangle 
 
 Of the waiting city. 
 
 48 
 
"THE MINE" 
 To W. L. C. 
 
 WHERE the brown earth 
 Holds a secret 
 They are delving deep 
 Into the heart 
 Of mystery. 
 As the sweet wonder 
 Of sun 
 After darkness, 
 Gilds the rim 
 
 Of the world, 
 So the gold lives 
 Through the dusky caverns 
 Of earth. 
 . As through the weariness 
 Of grief, 
 And the misery 
 
 Of sin, 
 Love eternal shines and purifies; 
 So the gold 
 Is washed 
 To shining beauty — 
 Cleansed from the earth 
 And darkness 
 That covered ft. 
 
 49