PS 3513 [34 Ma iitJiiiiuiiiiEn; -jsjtaiz: lW:i umii Class JES>J_S_L^ Book A a 4 lA e CoRyiightN" il COPYRIGHT deposit: MYSELF AND I THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS ATI^NTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMU.LAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd . TORONTO MYSELF AND I BY 7^^ FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS )^Mfiyi^t Nfut fork THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1913 AU rigftis reserved Copyright, igos, 1906, igo8, 1909, loio, 1911, 1912, 1913, by The Ridgeway Company, The Independent Weekly, Inc., Lippincott's Magazine, The At- lantic Monthly Company, Harper & Brothers, The Century Company, The Butterick Publishing Company, The Yale Review, The Curtis Pub- lishing Company, and The Four Seas Company. Copyright, 1913, By the MACMILLAN COMPANY Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1913 PRESS OF T. UORET & SOK, UKEENFIELD, MASS., 0. S. A. ) CI. A3 4 6 51': TO M^ l^ati}tr an& Matl^er CONTENTS A Joy from Little Things Myself and I . . . The Forbidden Lure The Moods A Ballad of Return Day The Rebel Wood Wandering The Ends of the Earth Up a Hill and a Hill Rainy Weather The Dead Folk Strong Desires Tall Lilac-Tree Beside My Door The Silent Day Soul vs. Body . 1 Lay Beneath the Apple-Tree Beyond Recall ... The Doors Song, After Sorrow The City's Cry . Beneath the Wall Over the City, Night To Other Small Verse-Makers The Dream-Self Souls .... page I 2 8 lO 12 15 17 19 21 23 24 27 29 31 33 35 37 40 42 44 45 47 49 51 52 55 viii CONTENTS PAGE Origins 56 The Nights 60 Faith 62 Gipsy Feet 64 Singing 67 Dawn-Dream 68 Hill-Fantasy 70 Warning 75 My House . 77 Free 81 A Sea-Spell 83 Nocturne (For Music) 84 Heart 0' The Wood . 8S Water-Fantasy . 87 The Glad Day . 90 Earth-Bound 93 The Secret Thing 95 Oh Never Shut Your Dooi I on Me 96 Years 98 To Lonely Youth 99 I Went to Seek Her 102 The Red Road . 103 Not for Your Sakes 105 Comrades . 107 Silence 108 After Copying Goodly Poetry no The Hermit on the Dunes 112 Tece Songs of Conn the Fc lOL 121 MYSELF AND I A JOY FROM LITTLE THINGS To press a joy from little things, — From feet that fall in time, From daylong silent fashionings Of some heart-hidden rhyme, — From shapes of leaves and clouds and snow, From others' brighter eyes, From thinking, "I am dull, I know. But some are glad and wise," — From love remembered, though too dim For laughter or for tears, One fragile flame, too pale and slim To gleam on grayer years, — That is one way of Joy, I know, Yet I desire, desire. To go the way a god might go Through Love and Life and Fire! MYSELF AND I Myself and I went wandering to-day. We walked the long white webbed roads away, Saw much green marsh-land, much blue splendid sea. The wind was happy with Myself and me. Now we had read a book whose burden blew With a brave honest air of being true. It said, "Express Thyself, Thyself alway. True to Thyself, thou canst not go astray. Ask of the inner Voice, the inner Light, And heaven-clear shall be thine outer sight. Obey, — and thou shalt always seek and find God in the clay, the Spirit on the wind." So said I, "To Myself I will be true. Speak on, Myself, what I to-day shall do." Myself, thereat rejoicing, crowed aloud. We were elate as angels on a cloud! MYSELF AND I 3 The day was ours. Myself with merry mien Said, "Thou shalt wear thy gown of shoal-sea green : Thy curious gown, and plaited in thy hair Grasses and glistering sea-weeds dank and rare. To-day thou shalt a mermaid-creature be, And skip along the surges of the sea." Then I must labor with Myself. "Indeed I love the green gown and the wreathed weed. But every one would turn and stare at me As I ran down the marshes to the sea! And if beside the surf alone I go, What strange bad folk may meet me there? Dost know? — O, dear Myself, such joys we cannot take. Or every tongue will wag and head will shake!" Myself, demurring, yet did give consent. Discreetly garbed, on sober roads we went. The wind came up from out the gleaming west. And shook the poplar trees, and downward pressed The bright gray-headed grasses, and the bay Bristled its blue hair like a hound. Straightway 4 MYSELF AND I Myself, long throbbing in my throat, cried out, "Run with the wind! oh, race with him and shout! Sing to the sun! be merry as the grass! Now all the gladness of the earth doth pass. Thou wouldst not be my wild green mermaid-thing, But oh, I prithee, laugh, and run, and sing! " Then must I labor with Myself. "But lo, Along the road much people pass us. No. — If I should sing and run, to-morrow we In durance with the Crazy Folk might be, Wouldst thou, strait-jacketted, be fain to sing? O, dear Myself, ask not so mad a thing!" Upon a porch with scarlet vines o'errun A darling baby tottered to the sun. With little cooing cries he greeted us. " See! " said Myself, " He is more glorious Than all the sun. Go up and kiss him, thou. He is more sweet than bloom on any bough." Then must I labor with Myself. "But stay! His mother by the lattice hid away Doth watch him. She will hate me if I dare To touch him. Look, already doth she stare MYSELF AND I 5 Because we loiter by the little wall. Myself, that was the maddest thing of all." Myself made outcry. " Shame ! thou hast not done Of all the things I bid a single one. If to Thyself thou art not ever true, How shall the eyes of God come piercing through This masked world?" I had no answer pat. Myself had caught me, I admitted that: — And to atone, I swore by wind and sky To do Myself 's next bidding, should I die! Myself triumphant, I not too content, Down divers white and sunny ways we went. All suddenly across the curving road A youth as tall as plumy Hector strode; As tall, as brave in fashion. Faith, he seemed A hero-shape some epic minstrel dreamed! With proud high step and level sea-blue eyes. He looked a god on gallant enterprise. Up leapt Myself. "Oh, make him turn thy way! Stumble, or swoon! oh, somehow make him stay! 6 MYSELF AND I Thy blood and his are kin, thy heart doth beat. Surely, ah surely, he would find thee sweet! Let him not pass, he is so brave to see! " — He passed. I know not if he glanced at me. Then must I truly labor with Myself. I said, "O vain, preposterous! Thou elf, Thou wicked witch, thou monstrous mischief, thou Consummate little mock at conscience, how Dost thou expect obedience to such Unseemly promptings? I have borne too much. Out on thee (yet I love thee) ! Now be still. God help me if I work thy naughty will." At eve Myself and I came home. That book Down from its high and portly place we took. And read, "Express Thyself, Thyself alway. True to Thyself, thou canst not go astray." — I looked Myself between the dancing eyes : They dazzled me, they were so wild and wise. "Myself," I said, "art thou a naughtier one Than any other self beneath the sun? Or why, why, why, — could I not once obey Thine innocent glad bidding, all this day?" MYSELF AND I 7 Myself's bright eyes were clouded o'er with tears. Myself 's gay voice was dim as dust of years. "Ah," said Myself, "the book is true. And I Am very naughty sometimes. See, I cry Repentance. Yet so mad I needs must be Or else the world would choke and smother mc. The world must choke me. No more like a faun The Spirit, running free, takes dusk and dawn With earth-simplicity. Thou canst not do These sudden happy things I call thee to. — And yet, young Puritan, be kind to me! I am more precious than thy treasury Of maxims. Yes, deny me often. Go The sober road. Yet always deep below Thy silent days, remember, I am here, Defiant, singing, shadowed not by fear Of Change or Death. Remember me, although I am so wild, and wanton with thee so. — For I, though all the world throw stones at me, Am Light, am Voice, am God's own Spark in thee ! " We laid the great book back upon its shelf. Between two tears, I smiled in at Myself. THE FORBIDDEN LURE "Leave all and follow, follow! " Lure of the sun at dawn, Lure of a wind-paced hollow, Lure of the sun withdrawn; Lure of the brave old singing Brave ancient minstrels knew; Of dreams like sea-fog clinging To boughs the night sifts through. "Leave all and follow, — follow! " The sun goes up the day; Flickering wing of swallow, Blossoms that blow away, — What would you, luring, luring. When I must bide at home? My heart will break her mooring, And die in reef -flung foam ! Oh, I must never listen! Call not outside my door. Green leaves, you must not glisten Like water any more. THE FORBIDDEN LURE Beauty, wandering Beauty, Pass by; speak not. For see, By bed and board stands Duty To snatch my dreams from me! THE MOODS The Moods have laid their hands across my hair: The Moods have drawn their fingers through my heart: My hair shall never more lie smooth and bright, But stir like tide-worn sea-weed, and my heart Shall never more be glad of small sweet things, — A wild rose, or a crescent moon, — a book Of little verses, or a dancing child. My heart turns crying from the rose and book, My heart turns crying from the thin bright moon. And weeps with useless sorrow for the child. The Moods have loosed a wind to vex my hair. And made my heart too wise, that was a child. Now I shall blow hke smitten candle-flame: I shall desire all things that may not be: The years, the stars, the souls of ancient men, All tears that must, and smiles that may not be, — Yes, glimmering lights across a windy ford, THE MOODS II And vagrant voices on a darkened plain. And holy things, and out-cast things, and things Far too remote, frail-bodied to be plain. My pity and my joy are grown alike. I cannot sweep the strangeness from my heart. The Moods have laid swift hands across my hair : The Moods have drawn swift fingers through my heart. A BALLAD OF RETURN Behold, I have served you a year and a day, But now I am fain to be going away. — I have bent my back to the tasks ye set And bound my hair in a sober net: I have knelt in the kirk and tried to pray. Though my thoughts were wandering far away. I have given few words to your words, though ye In God's own sight have been good to me. — Mistress and master and children all, I cry a blessing on hearth and hall. May ye sleep in peace and rise in the sun, And an angel follow you every one, — But I, — it's out from your hall I go Ere ever the morning star dips low. For my mother was born of the gipsy folk, A child of the wind and the wandering smoke; And a braw brown sailor fathered me, Over across the windy sea. A BALLAD OF RETURN 13 In a low-browed house by the hollow shore I dreamed all night to the breakers' roar: I danced all day on the dunes that lie Bare to the wind and the driven sky. Ships and sea-wrack and fog I knew As a hill knows the sun and a rose the dew. And when I was grown to a slip of a lass, With eyes that widened to meet my glass, 'Twas a lither lad from the secret sea Who drew the heart from the side of me. He kissed me and gave me a crooked ring, And bade me to pray for his voyaging. Up the hill of the terrible sea, Under the unknown stars sailed he; But oh, he will come! he will come to me! My mother sleeps 'neath an ash-tree, high On a craggy hill where the eagles cry. My father lies drowned where the bitter seas Rage at the roots of the Hebrides. I have lain in a byre and watched the lift Of the first white dawn when the Two Winds shift, And the stars go pale, and the cattle stir. And the sun calls "Wake!" like a trumpeter. 14 A BALLAD OF RETURN I have hung in a fir-tree's fork, and felt The lightning stab and the strong hail pelt. I have sailed all day in the blank-eyed mist Over bays that the long reefs tear and twist. And thrice I have heard in the night the cry Of the Hosts of the Dead go by, go by: Drifting over the Bar of Dread, Or riding over the Bridge of the Dead, Wrapped in fog, with their eyes as bright As lost ships' lanterns at mid o' night. I have served you humbly a year and a day, But now I am fain to be going away. — Farewell! farewell! for I stand no more In sunshine or starshine beside your door. Sea- wrack and wind and the wayside smoke: For my mother was born of the gipsy folk. DAY There is your day. Up ! Away ! The still, untroubled forest stirs. The doves' nests in the deep black firs Move and pulse and beat; Quivers of leaves, like heat, Run down the birches' boughs; One steady wind-blade ploughs A furrow in the lake; The small wild roses take Sudden warm blushes; all the sky Grows into blue. — O Sun, come by! The forest breathes and waits: Birds call their mates: White flowers shake on stems : Lake ripples gleam like gems: The morning star is near to die: — Sun! Come by! IS 1 6 DAY You, sleepy-eyed, leap up; let slip Warm dreams, and make your lashes drip With quick cold water. Eat, and pray Before the sun, and laugh, and say " God's joy be with my world to-day! " There is your day. Up! Away! THE REBEL Find me by the water-side, Find me in the wood : Take me as you find me, quick, If you find me good! Oh, I'm weary of the way Up the hill to church. I should like to be the wind In the silver birch: I should like to be the stream Singing to the sea, Or the shadows of swift wings, Woven curiously. Or a rabbit in the brake, Or a speckled trout In the green-and-gloomy-pool Lazing it about. Why should such as I abide Rusting like a blade In a mildewed scabbard? Oh, Wherefore was I made 17 THE REBEL With such lusty lively feet, Such a love of sky, If I may not run and leap? If I may not fly? I am going far away From the church-crowned hill: Where the surf makes silence roar, Or the leaves He still. Follow, follow, follow me! Folk who know, as I, That the Joy of Living calls When the wind goes by! Find me by the waterside, Find me in the wood : Take me as you find me, quick, If you find me good! WOOD WANDERING Fairy o' the bean bloom, Fairy o' the pea, Fairy o' the pink hedgerose, show yourselves to me! Green goblin o' the grass, limber lively lad, Fife up to the wild feet that joy of you drives mad ! Down through the garden, all across the grove, Fairy o' the pine-needles, whither shall I rove ? Neither hare nor deer am I, catamount nor snake; Just a wild-wood-wanderer, — and what's the way to take ? River at the foot of me, restless with his rocks. Tickled by the white birch-tree's long green lady- locks ; Cliff at my shoulder; forest at my back; Meadow deep with daisies — what do I lack? Nothing in the wide world save another face, Save another cloven foot to tempt me to a race. Fairy o' the Satyr- wind, be visible to me! Never man nor woman sees the wilding world I see. 19 . 20 WOOD WANDERING Fairy o' the frail fern, slender fairy girl, Fairy o' the thistle-down, lead me all awhirl! You of the water-fall, you of berry-brake, You of the wet green moss, show the way to take! What's the world but green and gold? What's love but this — Touching hands with tendriled vines, giving air your kiss? Who desires the ugly flesh, when his soul can run Clean to the world's caress, splendid to the sun? THE ENDS OF THE EARTH Oh, lift your feet and follow away To the bounds of the dark and the ends of the day! Heigho! heigho! the Red Winds blow, And a flame of a leaf down the road doth go: A coal, a spark, that dances away. Luring and leading you out of the day — To the hill that's black and the sky that's red, And a great white star set low overhead, And a little white moon like a twisted thread Athrill in the web of the well-wrought red. Oh, lift your feet and follow away! The Red Winds over your shoulder say: "The Ends of the Earth lie far, lie far, But close as the hill to the great white star; The Ends of the Earth are fair to find, So red with sunset and keen with wind; And the spark of a leaf flies fast before. Blowing across the world's wide floor, 2 2 THE ENDS OF THE EARTH Red, red, red, — oh, a sharp-blown fire! And luring you on like your heart's desire! Oh, lift your feet and follow away To the bounds of the dark and the ends of the day: Red, red, red, as a flame are they!" Heigho! heigho! the Red Winds blow, And the rush of a race to your feet doth go. And over the hill and into the sky You must follow and follow the chasing cry — Follow the spark to the still white star. To the Ends of the Earth, — oh far, so far! At the bounds of the dark and the ends of the day! Oh, lift your feet and follow away! UP A HILL AND A HILL Up a hill and a hill there's a sudden orchard-slope, And a little tawny field in the sun ; There's a gray wall that coils Hke a twist of frayed- out rope, And grasses nodding news one to one. Up a hill and a hill there's a windy place to stand, And between the apple-boughs to find the blue Of the sleepy summer sea, past the cliffs of orange sand, With the white charmed ships sliding through. Up a hill and a hill there's a little house as gray As a stone that the glaciers scored and stained; With a red rose by the door, and a tangled garden- way, And a face at the window, checker-paned. I could climb, I could cUmb, till the shoes fell off my feet. Just to find that tawny field above the sea! Up a hill and a hill, — oh, the honeysuckle's sweet! And the eyes at the window watch for me! 23 RAINY WEATHER Up comes 'Bouncing Bet' again, Pink and lusty in the lane. Tansy's odor keener is Than all incense-mysteries. Oh, the trees! How they strain In the driven windy rain! All the marsh-grass bows its head, All the tide- ways blur and spread, And the bay Is as gray As the roof o' the miller's shed. Up the hill I run, together With the wet and windy weather. Hair in eyes and dripping cheek, (Oh, how cool and soft and sleek Is the hand-touch of the rain!) 'Bet' and I bounce up the lane. 24 RAINY WEATHER 25 There the Dead Folk's decent rows Flank me, and the church upstands With its high gray shoulders, close On the Dead Folks' silent lands. — Oh, the trees. How they strain! Writhe and reach and fear the rain! — 'Bet' and I bounce up the lane. All the houses' eyes are shut. Still are they as Dead Folk, but Here a face and there a bloom Nodding scarlet to the gloom Say the Dead alone do lie On the hill, against the sky. Oh, the wind, the driven rain! How the silver poplars strain ! How the world seems wide and low As along the lane I blow, All alone, and glad to be For a little. Beat on me, Wild wet weather! Strike me, wind! Flare my brown cape out behind; — Winged as a gull I fly All alone beneath the sky. 26 RAINY WEATHER Oh, the trees, How they strain ! How they clamor and complain ! Reckless in the sea-tinged rain, ' Bet ' and I bounce up the lane. THE DEAD FOLK The Dead Folk live in decent rows; Their houses all are neat. But through their doorways no one goes, With dull or dancing feet. The Dead Folk are a harmless host. I have not ever seen One single cautious, moon-gray ghost Slip o'er the shadowy green. I doubt if they are ever glad Or sorry; though indeed It often makes me still and sad To think they give no heed. But in a few years more or less I shall not care at all How many people peer and guess Above the churchyard wall. 27 28 THE DEAD FOLK And when they step about my house, And read my door-plate, — why, I shall be quiet as a mouse, No matter how they cry. Or if too long ago I went Down yonder for their tears, I do not think I shall resent The silence of the years. My body is a curious thing. My soul's not half so strange, Who may go forth on gleaming wing. And take no touch of change. But that my body should lie still, And never dance or run. And never climb a crooked hill, And never see the sun, — This is a strange, strange thing to me; And stranger yet it grows Each time I stop awhile to see The Dead Folk's decent rows. O STRONG DESIRES STRONG desires that hurt the heart With useless strife of blunted wings, 1 weary of your travailings. — Why must you always surge and start When I am nearest happiness? Across the freedom of the sky Like dazzling phantom gods you fly; And seeing you, my joy is less. When sometimes, by an April brook, Beneath the birchen buds I kneel, And, almost turned a Dryad, feel The thrill of that green life which shook Old woodlands that the Hellenes knew, — When every breath is rare and good, — There sweeps a shudder down the wood: Wild-hearted wonders pierce me through. Or when beside the hearth I lie And listen to the liquid flame, While One I love most speaks my name, And in that peace my dreams all die, — 29 30 O STRONG DESIRES Then from the shadow-pools beyond Our small red-circled joy, there leap Tall shapes, fantastical as sleep, To call us mortal, helpless, fond, And blind my eyes with visions, vain, Enormous, never known on earth : A longing for immortal mirth That mortal Hps may never stain. O strong desires! worthless wings! Star-reachings, heaven-failings! why Will you remind me I must die To taste the utmost joyful things? " TALL LILAC-TREE BESIDE MY DOOR " Tall lilac-tree beside my door, How many Mays for me Shall you stand murmuring once more In pale sweet ecstasy? Deep meadows, flushed and daisy-drowned, How many Junes shall I Among your flowery foam be found To hear your larks' long cry? Cold moon beyond my maple trees, How often shall I know Your frosty flashing mysteries Of silence and of snow? And, little house of hearth that thrills, And chambers cool and gray, How old an I shall sweep your sills And wind your clocks, some day? 31 32 "TALL LILAC-TREE BESIDE MY DOOR" — Oh, there are stars to-night to see: They march, they burn, they sing. How many nights of stars for me? OJ stars; oj wondering ? — THE SILENT DAY Yesterday I awoke With a sunward spirit. A bubble Of song from my soul outbroke. I had never heard of trouble: I had never heard of despair : And the day was a curving ripple Of windy musical air And blossoms that toss and tipple. Yesterday I awoke With a singing splendor above me. Even the stupidest folk Turned in the street to love me! Now to-day I am still As a stone in a frosty river; As a stone in the heart of a hill, Under grasses that hiss and shiver. 33 34 THE SILENT DAY No sun over my way Summons the world to see me. This is the Silent Day When twinklings and tinklings flee me. Courage, my heart, dead-dumb ! Hold thyself hard from aching! Silence is kind to come Lest the splendor strain thee to breaking! SOUL VS. BODY Though Age is fifty years from me, And Youth is close to me as breath, My Soul too clearly can descry Whither my Body journeyeth : Whither my Body journeyeth: A level land, a sober land, Where I shall walk with stumbhng feet And listless eyes and groping hand : Where I shall half forget my name, And stand an hour long, seeking it: Where I shall freeze, and o'er the flame Half shuddering, half scorched shall sit. Thither my Body journeyeth. Blood, drop by drop, for toll I pay; Though rich in that red coin to-night, Youth wastes it bravely day by day. But O my Soul, my ageless Soul, Already winged for voyaging, Why canst thou not fly far, to Youth, 35 36 SOUL VS. BODY When Body grows a dreary thing? And as to-night thou mournest Age, Although my Body laughs and leaps, Why canst thou not laugh up to Heav'n When Body aches, and numbs, and creeps? My Soul! I trust my joy to thee; More strong art thou than aged Death! With thee I fear not to descry Whither my Body journeyeth. I LAY BENEATH THE APPLE-TREE I LAY beneath the apple-tree and heard The leaves at endless whisper in the wind; Also there passed above me many a bird, Or perched and sang. Across my drowsy mind Flew sun-and-shadow vagrancies, unshaped : How somewhere, one might miss me, — how the wings Of birds forevermore escaped, escaped, The curious eye that watched their wanderings, — How I was happier than once, and yet I had done little service v/ith my life, — (For I might die, and all the world forget I ever stretched my hands for sport or strife), How one I knew, less old than I had died A week ago. Where then had journeyed she? No more to hear the faint warm hours glide With singing feet into Eternity; To watch the apple-branches blow and flash, — No more. — And then I hid my face and lay Half-smothered, blind. Dull as a dead fire's ash Became the sunny glamor of the day. 37 38 I LAY BENEATH THE APPLE-TREE For I remembered those I loved, who passed Beyond the sunlight on the eastern pane, Beyond the snow and lightning; who at last Ceased all their homely wonder, — "Would it rain, Or shine to-day — " and laid their sorrows by, Even old sorrows with old joys, and went Whither? Ah, whither? Past the sun and sky? Whither? Ah, whither? Proud-souled or forspent? So underneath the apple- tree I lay, Half in the body, half far-voyaging: While any folk who walked the small foot- way Had said I slept. Not so. On troubled wing My soul fared out and beat against the blue, And cried against the Gates of God for light. But nothing answered, and my soul withdrew Baflfled and silent from her fruitless flight. And I came home, along the small foot-way. Trailing my feet in daisy-grass, I stooped To pull the red wild strawberries, and play With daisy-heads that bobbed and leaves that drooped, I LAY BENEATH THE APPLE-TREE 39 And swift white wayward butterflies. I came Home to the little house below the hill, — Where no one now looks out to call my name, And yet, I think I sometimes hear them still. — I have been very happy all this day, O sun! O wind that blew the apple- tree! And yet — you seem so far, so far away, — And somehow, it is death stands close to me. BEYOND RECALL I CANNOT call you back again, For you have journeyed far Beyond the hosting of the rain Or any circled star. For you have journeyed suddenly Beyond my highest hill. I cannot call you back to me Who am so earth-bound still. In lilac-leaves and boughs of fir, Low water-sounds and wind, In wings that start and clouds that stir Sure excellence I find: In touch of hands and flash of eyes. — But you, — oh, what of you? Grown instantly so strange, so wise, And so eternal too. I cannot call you back, although My loneliness may call. What would you now of whirling snow And shadows sunset-tall? 40 BEYOND RECALL 41 And I, — what would you now of me? I cannot journey. I Must wait till I too, suddenly, Unlearn this earth, this sky. THE DOORS The doors open, the doors close. Blindfold I stand, and hear them swing In the wind of my bewildering. The doors open, the doors close. One tied a thick cloth over my face, And led me into this alien place, And left me alone, to grope and hear The whispering winds of the world draw near, And half, to hope; and half, to fear. Do I dare to step? Do I dare to thrust My hand in the dark that is thick as dust? And what shall I find, if I enter where The wind comes forth with a hand on my hair? Do I dare? in the dark, — do I dare? Which door leads to the face of the sun? And which is the precipice-plunging one? How shall I turn where the voice sings out Like wind and water and sea-men's shout, — Sings, and my heart leaps? Where? — I doubt. 42 THE DOORS 43 I doubt. I am baffled. The darkness leans Hard on my breast. My brain careens Like a drunken galleon. The winds go by. I hear the hinges that creak and cry, And one says "Live!" and one, "Thou shalt die!" The doors open. The doors close. I reach my hand: it is filled with the dark. I cry, and the winds cry "Hark! — oh hark! — " And the doors open, the doors close. SONG — AFTER SORROW Moonshine over the City; Moonshine over the Sea. I have wandered farther than ever the Moon Since last She looked on me. Little I knew how far, how far, How aching-far I should go, With feet of a perilous falling star And hair that the Wind weighed low. Moonshine over the City; Moonshine over the Sea: Oh, I am weary as never the Moon With wandering curiously! THE CITY'S CRY The City cries to me all day And cries to me all night. I do not put its voice away When I put out the light. With stars and frost and windy things, Eternal things and still, The City laughs and sobs and sings Across my window-sill. Sky of Stars, how wide you are! How swept with light you lie ! Yet never any leaning star Can heed the City's cry. 1 lay awake when past the roofs The planets all were strange. I heard the City's wheels and hoofs, The City's shift and change. 4S 46 THE CITY'S CRY The planets all were greater far Than when I went to sleep; And one long splendor of a star Across the dark did leap. But oh, for all they were so proud, I heard the City cry, And in my dreams I saw a crowd Of wan folk herded by Sky of Stars, though you are great, Though dreams are heaven-high, Monotonous and old as Fate 1 hear the City cry! BENEATH THE WALL LITTLE wind, O south wind, wind of pleasant feet. Step quietly across the wall, And bless this sorry street! Above the shadowed, damp old wall 1 see a piece of sky, Most blue, — and there are cherry-trees, White, white, — and swallows fly, Black darting sharp-winged ships of air, And there's the sun all day. But here below, the street grinds on. And it is March, not May, little wind, O south wind. Come softly down to me ! A cherry petal's light as air; Blow one across! For see, 47 48 BENEATH THE WALL The steaming streets, the shrieking wheels, The bricks all foul with slime, And not a blade of sudden grass To tell the season's time. And all the people's lips are blue As on a sleety day, For only up above the wall Is sky and sun and May. little wind, O south wind, O wind of pleasant feet. Come down from that walled Paradise, And bless this sodden street! "OVER THE CITY, NIGHT" I SHUT my door; I stand alone; My windy gaslight leaps and sings. — Over the City weaves the Night Her web of secret things. Over the City, all the streets Grow cavernous with dusk, or glare White with a thousand lamps, while I Stand, letting down my hair. Pale mirrored face, that comes to meet My face, with such unseeing eyes, Art thou then /, who was so wild, And thought myself so wise? — Over the City, face on face Stares at itself to-night, to find Only a curious shell, with eyes Wide, meaningless, and blind. I walked once in a graveyard place, Greeting the Dead Folk from the ground. But I am lonelier far to-night Than with gray tombs around. 49 50 "OVER THE CITY, NIGHT" Life! Life! — the silence and the cry! The surge of seas without a chart; More strange than Death. — Who ever chose His course? Born blind, to start Adventuring? but now, behold. We must fare on, forever fare. Over the City, Night. — And I Stand, letting down my hair. TO OTHER SMALL VERSE-MAKERS 0, ALL ye little poet-folk, Untried, enamored of a dream ; Ye, having breathed the altar-smoke. And loved a shade, and chased a gleam : — In face of all the woful things. The long injustices of Life, BeUeving somehow, something sings Above the sordidness and strife : — Ye, gallant grapplers with foul Fate, — Let us sing high, then fight. Perchance Our voice and valor shall be great As Fate's unsinging circumstance. all ye little poet-folk, Men say we are but fools of God, — And yet, Gods breathe the incense-smoke; And they are worms that seek the sod. 51 THE DREAM SELF I SEE myself go up and down: I chaffer in the market-town, I linger on the willow-bridge, And leap upon the mountain ridge. I stretch myself to sleep at night All drowsy-limbed and lapp'd in white : At dawn I stand to greet the sun. And softly cry to him. I run Up hill and down: my hair flies free: Flushed cheeks and panting heart of me! In daisy fields I stumble; stoop Where hot wild berries hide and droop; I chase a bob-o'-link; I hark To many a sad-glad meadow-lark; In Wood of Firs I hold and hush My breath, for oh, the thrush! the thrush! And on the white roads do I pass An old man here, and there a lass, And sometimes shy-faced lads who stare And blush, and look away. — Care, 52 THE DREAM SELF 53 Thou hast not touched this Shadow-Me Whom light of foot and heart I see ! For in what dream-roofed market-town Does such an I go up and down? And where in all the world the bridge, The daisy field, the mountain ridge, The Wood of Firs, the songs, the sky, The lads and lasses loitering by? Ah, where the little white-walled room That bids me sleep from seed to bloom Of flowery Day? And where, and where, Light hands to smooth my flickering hair, Light hands I love to hold me, eyes To greet me home with laughter wise? A Dream Self in a world of dreams: A Shadow Self, among the gleams The arc-lights cast. A foot unknown By barren hall and sodden stone: A face unstained by soot and smoke, And all the million merciless folk. O City, City, set me free To live my lonely fantasy! 54 THE DREAM SELF Your hand about my throat is hot. I love you not; I love you not; Your eyes are hard that stare at me. City, City, set me free! — I see myself go to and fro. The arc-lights quiver, row on row; The street-signs wink and jeer with flame; But nothing calls me by my name, For nothing knows the names I bore In those wild precious days of yore. Someday, someday, — and though I die, 1 shall come back, sun! sky! SOULS My Soul goes clad in gorgeous things, Scarlet and gold and blue. And at her shoulder sudden wings Like long flames flicker through. And she is swallow-fleet, and free From mortal bonds and bars. She laughs, because Eternity- Blossoms for her with stars! — folk who scorn my stiff gray gown, My dull and fooHsh face. Can ye not see my Soul flash down, A singing flame through space? And folk, whose earth-stained looks I hate, Why may I not divine Your Souls, that must be passionate. Shining and swift, as mine? 55 ORIGINS In many a graveyard by the sea Lies ash of what now flames in me. And down the aching wilderness Blows dust whence got I throat or tress. Above black tombs that cities choke Dead hearts I echo drift like smoke. My father and my mother, they Could give me but a tithe of this: This intricacy dark or gay That is a Masque of mysteries: This motley, sudden, awful thing, Aladdin's lamp, Pandora's box: Cramful of terrors wild to spring, Of joy that glories, fear that mocks: This me, that, walking down the street, Half frightens me. Although I smile And chat and bargain, I complete Cycles of change in every mile! 56 ORIGINS 57 My father and my mother told Of certain folk, waste years away, Who, sinful, beautiful, or bold In war, in dreaming, in array Of strength against their world, are still Remembered. Ah, not all from them Stretch down these subtle veins that thrill Like fires that web an opal gem. What gray-eyed Viking gave me sense Of kinship with the drowning sea? What great dame, steel-white, proud, intense, Bestowed these cursed nerves on me? Was there a gipsy, long ago? And whence my blunted finger-tips That love the plain craft-labors so? Did one limn pictures, one build ships? Who blundered mothwise through the dark Of smothering creeds, to find out God? And oh, what dreamer like a lark So uselessly the sun-path trod? 58 ORIGINS My father and my mother, they Have given me so much of good, Confounded am I to betray Old angers, evil fires that brood And blaze, or shameful cowardice. Yet long ago, what choler flushed A face now melted out like ice? What anguish, demon-ready, rushed Through stricken limbs? I look within, Incredulous, distrait, to spy An endless hungry Hell of sin. I too had shouted "crucify!" — Wind-ridden graves by winter sea. What hold ye that may flame in me? White dust across the wilderness. What wit ye of my throat or tress? Black-crusted tombs that cities choke, Know I the hearts that stain your smoke? Fathers and mothers, up the years I call upon you. Touched with tears I kneel before you. I repay Upon the wind, your gifts. To-day ORIGINS 59 I own myself a patch-work thing, A crazy, dust-heap scavenging Of you, and you, and you, and you, — Poor brave blurred skulls the sand slips through. And yet — and yet — « I stand alone. Now all the wide world seems my own. Now time and space and God's own eyes Draw down to me. I seem as wise As Norns and Sybils. Mystery! I nothing am save mimicry? And yet, as proud, as fresh as sky, Stand I, — another Strange New I! THE NIGHTS The Nights go by, the Nights go by, Since the strong dark night that saw him die. — He said not once ''Farewell." He bowed Never his forehead fair and proud. He reached no hand in agony; But he looked at me. He looked at me. My soul and his in the strong dark night Wing and wing took flight, took flight : His before, and my soul behind. They fled at the flashing skirts of the wind : Stars they swept, and they looked on space Where under the forked flames glowed God's face. — Then deep they fell from the mystery, As he looked at me, and looked at me. The Nights like a flock of birds go by Since the strong dark night that saw him die. Over my head their wings I hear, And their steady shadows hover and steer 60 THE NIGHTS 6i Into my life and out again: (Starlight and storm on the pelted pane,) But never a night save that alone Is all my own, is all my own. He said not once "Farewell." His breath Trembled no touch of time at Death. He asked not, "Whither do I fare?" For me no kiss, and for God no prayer. But our souls went forth, and learned the way That his must go ere dawn of day. The Nights go by, the Nights go by, Since the strong dark night that saw him die: But never a night save that alone Is all my own; is all my own. FAITH Oh, I am tired out to-day: The whole world leans against my door: Cities and centuries. I pray, — For praying makes me brave once more. — I should have hved long, long ago, Before this age of steel and fire. I am not strong enough to throw A noose around my soul's desire And strangle it, because it cries To keep its old, unreasoned place In some bright simple Paradise, Before a God's too-human face. I know that in this breathless fray I am not fit to fight and cry. My soul grows faint and far away From blood and shouting, till I fly A blinded coward, back, to hide My face against the dim old knees Of that too-human God, denied By these quick crashing centuries. 62 FAITH 63 And there I learn deep secret things: Too frail for speech, too strong for doubt: How through the dark of demon-wings The same still face of God gleams out; How through the deadly riotous roar The voice of God speaks on. And then I trust Him, as one might before Faith grew too fond to comfort men. — I should have lived far, far away From this great age of grime and gold : For still, I know He hears me pray, — That close, too-human God of old! GIPSY FEET Oh, gipsy hearts are many enough, but gipsy feet are few! Many's the one that loves to dream night-long of stars and dew: Many's the one that loves the scent of wood-smoke by the way. And turns a leaping longing heart to every dawn of day. Gipsy hearts are many enough, but gipsy feet are few. — Ah, how ill it is to bide unloosed the long year through! Up and down the loud gray streets, stared at, star- ing back, Through tarnished trails of the staggering sun and soot-fog ochre-black; — Dressed in heavy and sober togs, eating of heavy fare, Hailed by only the screaming street, "Mind! step lively there!" 64 GIPSY FEET 6s Crook-backed over a dusty desk, — bothering to and fro There in the dull and airless house, — ah, to cut and go! — Up the hill-roads into the day! Over the sea- ward fells, Watch the thistle-down dip, and hear the thin sheep's huddling bells; Run like fire along the field, worship the heart of the wood, Kneel by the spring that splits the rock, and find the white rain good. — Oh, gipsy hearts are many enough, but gipsy feet are few; And secret gods must we worship still, if we worship fire and dew. For we must bend at the dusty desk, and over the counter lean, — Toil and moil in the sun-starved house, though leaves blow red or green. God, great God of the wind's caress, God of the sea's salute, Why are we chained and muzzled and meshed more than our brother the brute? 66 GIPSY FEET Shall there be never a day that all of the gipsy hearts may greet, Laughing out at the lure of the sun for the lift of the gipsy feet? But oh, though that day is far to come, and the feet forget to go free, Pray God that the hearts may not forget the hurt and the ecstasy! Pray God that never the fret may fail when the Spring comes over the year, That never the thin gay autumn dawns may seem less wild and dear. For shall it not be the height of Heaven, wonderful, swift, and sweet, If into the paths of perilous death may wander the gipsy feet? May wander free, with the risk of the road, the road that the glad Dead know, Out where the fires of God flame high, and the winds of God lean low! SINGING I DO not know why they should heed my singing. Are they not deaf and blind with urgent Life? And what am I, save one small lark, down-flinging My sun-song on a battle's blood-red strife? — To-day along the street I watched the City: The faces, faces, blurred or keen or proud; Barren with selfish shame or bright with pity; Faces dumb-dreary or that cried aloud. And there was nothing for my songs to show them Save little idle loveliness, and faith Too shy to reach the deep locked hearts below them, Slight as a shadow, wavering as a wraith. — Oh none the less I must be singing, singing! Somehow I think I hold their hearts in trust: Their secret sun-song, up the blue air flinging Its challenge to the battle-dark and dust! 67 DAWN-DREAM You dear angel! you wise angel! you angel with wonderful wings! I heard you out in the great pine-tree, and you sang as a wild bird sings. I heard you, up in the yellow dawn, before the frost is away. O dear angel ! O wise angel ! lean down to my face, I pray! Your hands would be cool and your cheeks would be cool; your wings would be cool as a rose: If you would but bless me a blessing, small as the littlest wind that blows! All night, all night, did I lie awake, and the moon looked in at me. She was so terribly, mortally white, and the stars were as dumb as she. Yet they told me I was a fool, a fool, for my dreams that never come true: But oh, while I watched for the yellow dawn, out here in the pine sang you! 68 DAWN-DREAM 69 You dear angel! you wise angel! you angel with wonderful wings! Lean down for a minute, and kiss me — so — till I know there are dream-sweet things! HILL-FANTASY Sitteth by the red cairn a brown One, a hoofed One, High upon the mountain, where the grasses Jail. Where the ash-trees flourish far their blazing bunches to the sun, A brown One, a hoofed One, pipes against the gale. I was on the mountain, wandering, wandering; No one but the pine trees and the white birch knew. Over rocks I scrambled, looked up and saw that Strange Thing, Peaked ears and sharp horns, pricked against the blue. Oh, and how he piped there! piped upon the high reeds Till the blue air crackled like a frost-film on a pool ! Oh, and how he spread himself, hke a child whom no one heeds. Tumbled chuckling in the brook, all sleek and kind and cool! 70 HILL-FANTASY 71 He had berries 'twixt his horns, crimson-red as cochineaL Bobbing, wagging wantonly they tickled him, and oh , How his deft lips puckered round the reed, and seemed to chase and steal Sky-music, earth-music, tree-music low! I said, ** Good-day, Thou!" He said, "Good-day, Thou!" Wiped his reed against the spotted doe-skin on his back. He said, "Come up here, and I will teach thee pip- ing now. While the earth is singing so, for tunes we shall not lack." Up scrambled I then, furry fingers helping me. Up scrambled I. So we sat beside the cairn. Broad into my face laughed that horned Thing so naughtily. Oh, it was a rascal of a woodland Satyr's bairn! "So blow, and so. Thou! Move thy fingers faster, look! Move them Hke the little leaves and whirHng midges. So! 72 HILL-FANTASY Soon 'twill twist like tendrils and out-twinkle like the lost brook. Move thy fingers merrily, and blow! blow! blow!" Brown One! Hoofed One! beat the time to keep me straight. Kick it on the red stone, whistle in my ear. Brush thy crimson berries in my face, then hold thy breath, for — wait! Joy comes bubbling to my lips. I pipe! oh, hear! Blue sky, art glad of us? Green wood, art glad of us? Old hard-heart mountain, dost thou hear me, how I blow? Far away the sea-isles swim in sun-haze luminous. Each one has a color Uke the seven-splendored bow. Wind, wind, wind, dost thou mind me how I pipe, now? Chipmunk chatt'ring in the beech, rabbit in the brake? Furry arm around my neck: "Oh, thou art a brave one. Thou!" Satyr, little satyr-friend, my heart with joy doth ache! HILL-FANTASY 73 Sky-music, earth-music, tree-music tremulous, Water over steaming rocks, water in the shade, Storm-tune and sun-tune, how they flock up unto us, Sitting by the red cairn, gay and unafraid! Brown One, hoofed One, give me nimble hoofs. Thou! Give me furry fingers and a secret furry tail! Pleasant are thy smooth horns : if their like were on my brow Might I not abide here, till the strong sun fail? — Oh, the sorry brown eyes! Oh, the soft kind hand- touch, Sudden brush of velvet ears across my wind-cool cheek ! "Play-mate, Pipe-mate, thou askest one good boon too much. I could never find thee horns, though day-long I should seek. "Yet, keep the pipe. Thou: I will cut another one. Keep the pipe and play on it for all the world to hear. 74 HILL-FANTASY Ah, but it was good once to sit together in the sun! Though I have but half a soul, it finds thee very- dear! "Wise Thing, Mortal Thing, yet my half-soul fears thee! Take the pipe and go thy ways, — quick now, for the sun Reels across the hot west and stumbles dazzled to the sea. Take the pipe, and oh — one kiss! then run! runi run!" — Silence on the mountain. Lonely stands the high cairn. All the leaves a-shivering, all the stones dead-gray. thou cold small pipe, which way is fled that Satyr's bairn? 1 am lost and all alone, and down drops the day. / was on the mountain, wandering, wandering. There I got this Pipe o' dreams. Strange, when I blow, Something deep as human love starts a-crying, troubling. Is it only sky-music, earth-music low? WARNING Pan's people on the mountain, pale Mermaids in the sea, A Druid by the standing-stones, a Gipsy at the spring: — Oh, queer indeed are all the folk who keep me com- pany, If you believe the tales I tell when I go romancing! A satyr on the mountain, a small brown satyr-bairn, He piped to me and kissed me, beside the windy cairn. But all I truly saw there was one flat-heeled Old Maid: She had a most strong-minded look beneath a green sun-shade. I was a gipsy, kneeling beside a wild camp-fire, And down the red-leaf-road at dusk he came, my heart's desire ! 75 76 WARNING His silver harness jingled; he sang; — but, bless you, then I just was minding bacon for three hungry picnic- men Once Gabriel and Michael stood near me, side by side. Their hair was flame, their eyes were flame, their whispering wings swept wide. Great Gabriel and Michael! They were not there, you know, But I was bored, quite frankly bored, the Rector rambled so. So, when you read my verses, O Anyone Who Might, You must not mind stray angels or a sudden furry faun. They are my dear Dream-people: they are my heart's delight: But still I turn the bacon-fork, or sit in church and yawn MY HOUSE You'll follow the car-track down the hill, And cross the bridge by the dead-faced mill — (There's a row of poplars that shiver there, And thin bright water comes over the weir,) Then presently, turn to the left a bit, And there by the road my house will sit. Oh, such a plain white Puritan house! Proper as paint, and mild as a mouse; Good green shutters and lilac-trees. Hollyhocks nodding, and, if you please, A walk of flag-stones with grass between, And lichen ledges all mouldy green. Tinkle my bell, (there's a knocker, you'll see. But I wouldn't hear it thumping, maybe, Up in the garret rafters, or out In the kitchen, taking my turn about With the dishes,) tinkle, and turn and look At my hills, past the strawberry fields and the brook 77 78 MY HOUSE And the daisy meadow and dim beech wood, At my hills, — wide billows of wonder, good As a play for watching! You never know The next wise act in their all-day-show; Though you'd hardly guess it, they crouch so still, Great green hill over great green hill, With never a comment on Life or Death, Drawing their own slow cycles of breath. And long, oh, ever so long before You're done with looking, I'll come to the door. Covered with big blue apron and all. Unless I'm quite sure it's a Proper call; Decide if I like your looks, and say, (If I do) "Come in!" and show you the way To the room where the books live, crowded high To the very top of their ceiling-sky. Railing or preaching, inside, at us, But seeming most silent and decorous. I hope, if I Hke you, the weather '11 be cold. We'll blow up the fire on the hearth, and hold Our hands out to it, and somehow then We needn't chatter so much as when MY HOUSE 79 We sit up stiff in my grandmother's chairs, And talk of the weather. How fire-shine scares The smallness from us, and makes us say Big slow things that are better than gay! — So, maybe, we'll half be friends before You stand again in the sunny door, Tread again down the flag-stones, greet My waiting hills, and go up the street, Willing, I hope, to come back again To my house, so Puritan white and plain; Willing, I hope, to come back to see My hills and my hollyhocks and Me! The architect showed me the plans to-day, But he's mortal slow to get under way! If my cellar is dug before frost gets in. And the men don't strike, if they once begin, — If my poems sell, (but how can they all?) There's the ghost of a chance that the day you call, (Follow the car-track down the hill. And cross the bridge by the poplar-mill,) There, as I said, my house will sit, Off to the side of the road a bit. So MY HOUSE And oh, though there aren't any hollyhocks, And my house still looks like a blank white box, And you can't find the flag-stones and lilac-trees, You mustn't be stiffish and solemn, please! You must take my hills and my house and me For a promise of all that we want to be. For I rather think, if I choose it so, My house, and those hollyhocks, will grow — Not till I'm spent and old, maybe, But surely someday, simple and free; Good at welcomes, and glad to greet Over the flag-stones, wishful feet : — And my hills, and my hearth, and even I Can make you happier, bye and bye! FREE The spring winds sweep my garden- wall ; The tall ships take the sea. I will be happy with them all, For now my heart is free. The swift years fly before my face Like swallows sharp and blue. From out the dark of Time and Space They never bring me You. And who You are I do not know I hardly long to see A face so dim, and feet so slow To cross the world to me. If You had loved me, there was time To find me out: but now I have more joy of wind or rhyme "^han dream-hands on my brow. 8i 82 FREE winds across my garden-wall ! O ships upon the sea ! Your kin am I: no more I call The wraith of Love to me! A SEA-SPELL The bay is bluer than all the sky; The sky is bluer than sapphire-stone; The wind and the wave, the wave and the wind, Beat and dazzle me glad and blind, Over the marshes blown. Once I was a plover who ran, who ran, A crying shadow along the foam. Once I was a gull in the swing of the spray. Over green shallows I hung all day, Till sunset carried me home. Once I was a ship with glorious sails That leapt to the love of the wind. Up over the edge of the world I fled. Sun-followed and fleet-foam-heralded: — The hidden tides knew my mind. But now I am only a girl who runs, A laughing pagan with tangled hair. Plover and gull and ship was I, — Perchance when my body comes to die My soul shall again fly fair? 83 NOCTURNE — (FOR MUSIC) Far, — far, — oh, far, — The sweet sea-silence lies. Past the surfy bar The dark tide dreams and sighs. - Night, — trembling night, — And only I to see Heaven's reeling white Star-haunted mystery. — Far, — far, — oh, far, — The strong sea-silence broods — Hush, oh falling star! Hurt not Heav'n's solitudes! 84 HEART 0' THE WOOD I WENT up on foxes' feet: I went up on thrushes' wings. O Thou Heart o' the Wood, thou sweet Company of Silent Things ! No one said me nay. I passed Wingwise up the quiet tracks Where the tall dead pine-trees cast Shadows on each others' backs. They were rich with bronze and tall; They were warm and incense-rare; And the Sun went through them all As a king goes up a stair. Not a squirrel, not a bird, Not a heavy human stir. All the wind I ever heard Was an idle loiterer. At the top I stood agaze Where the forest fell apart. Caught the blue of gleaming bays, Searched the faint horizon's heart; 85 86 HEART 0' THE WOOD Stared down vistas green and gold: Fairy ferns in companies, Beech leaves tossing manifold As the tides of tropic seas: — Sat one moment with the Sun, Loosed his hand at last and leapt, Like a diver at a run. Where the green leaf-water swept. Ah, it swirled above my head ! Far and cool the sunshine grew, And my feet that slipped and fled Down the leafy whirl-pool drew. Drowned in leaves — in leaves I swung. Fathoms deep I trod the green Trembling silence; or I hung Swaying o'er the depth serene. But my breath was light and free, And my eyes were wide, for oh, Wonder — Wonder — sang to me From the silence green and low ! I came down, nor felt my feet : I came down, nor needed wings. O Thou Heart o' the Wood, thou sweet Company of Silent Things ! WATER FANTASY O BROWN brook, O blithe brook, what will you say to me If I take off my heavy shoon and wade you child- ishly? O take them off, and come to me. You shall not fall. Step merrily! But, cool brook, but, quick brook, and what if I should float White-bodied in your pleasant pool, your bubbles at my throat? If you are but a mortal maid, Then I shall make you half afraid. The water shall be dim and deep, And silver fish shall lunge and leap About you, coward mortal thing. , But if you come desiring 87 88 WATER FANTASY To win once more your naiadhood, How you shall laugh and find me good — Aly golden surfaces, my glooms, IVIy secret grottoes' dripping rooms. My depths of warm wet emerald. My mosses floating fold on fold ! And where I take the rocky leap Like wild white water shall you sweep; Like wild white water shall you cry, Trembling and turning to the sky, While all the thousand-fringed trees Glimmer and glisten through the breeze. I bid you come ! Too long, too long, You have forgot my undersong. And this perchance you never knew : E'en I, the brook, have need of you. My naiads faded long ago, — My little nymphs, that to and fro Within my waters sunnily Made small white flames of tinkling glee. I have been lonesome, lonesome; yea, E'en I, the brook, until this day. Cast off your shoon; ah, come to me, And I will love you lingeringly! WATER FANTASY 89 wild brook, O wise brook, I cannot come, alas! 1 am but mortal as the leaves that flicker, float, and pass. My body is not used to you ; my breath is fluttering sore; You clasp me round too icily. Ah, let me go once more! Would God I were a naiad-thing whereon Pan's music blew; But woe is me! you pagan brook, I cannot stay with you! THE GLAD DAY I HAVE not thought of sorrow The whole day long, nor now. I wandered out, and oh, what winds Laid kisses on my brow ! And all the world was kind to me: Each spear of grass was gay; The brown brooks had a mind to me, And sang me on my way. I conquered many a climbing road, And always at the crest The winds of all the world abode. And shadows stopped to rest. The hills like lazing gods of eld With sleepy shoulders lay, And all the soaring vault upheld Of high blue heavenly day. 90 THE GLAD DAY 91 Far, far below the village spire Pricked sharply to the sky. "Strong pagan hills of my desire! Frail house of God!" thought I. Far, far below the river crept; The willow leaves made stir Of blowing silver, touched and swept By wind, wild lute-player. (The river-wind a minstrel is, A minstrel deft and blind. The willows know his fingers' kiss As strings the player's mind.) The sweet shorn fields, the fairy fern. The roadside's gipsy bloom. Young goldenrod, — oh, every turn Was blithe with green and gloom ! I did not meet a single face That would not smile at me. Perhaps the sun's vast golden grace Set love and laughter free. THE GLAD DAY The gravestones by the poplar tree Full carelessly I passed. I thought that Death himself must see How sweet was Life, at last. And I came home at evening time, But still my heart doth sing, — So have I wrought this wavering rhyme For my remembering. I have not thought of sorrow The whole day long, nor now. Good-night, fair world! and oh, what stars Weave splendor round my brow ! EARTH-BOUND I CANNOT fly to Paradise: I cannot leave at all The homely heaven-path that lies Hard by my own house- wall. stars and suns that wait on God, I know you not. I know That I am kin of leaf and sod, Of rain, white frost, and snow. dreams that pierce the heart of life, I feel you flashing by, But may not watch the immortal strife Ye wage, too bright to die. My own dear dreams are small and still: How some one likes me; how It was a joy to climb the hill Where west- wind stroked my brow; How I shall make a dress to-day Of merry woodland green. That to Myself Myself may say "To Fairyland you've been!" 93 94 EARTH-BOUND How I am glad the seasons change; More glad my friends change not: How even troubles sharp and strange I somehow have forgot. I cannot fly to Paradise : My earth-stained wings are slow. Not being wonderful or wise The earth-joy keeps me low. Yet to the secret Hand of God I hold, nor feel afraid. He knows me Soul; He knows me sod; For both He dreamed and made! THE SECRET THING I SOUGHT to sing the secret of my heart; But it escaped me Hke a wild-winged bird, And to the lonely Heavens did depart Until a faint lost note was all I heard. And no one else on all the earth could hear What I had deemed so marvelously clear. I sought to tell the secret of my heart, Whispering low, to one who loved me well. But like a breath of dawn I felt it start And pass before one precious symbol fell. And she I loved so only looked at me. "What fragrant wind was that? Oh, sweet!" said she. So I shall keep it hid eternally. It is so filmy, exquisite, and wild: And yet so bright and eloquent and free. Full many a barren day it has beguiled. But if none else its loveliness may see Think not I play the miser wilhngly! 95 " OH NEVER SHUT YOUR DOOR ON ME" Oh never shut your door on me Because your house will make me sad. I dance enough: I always see Enough sweet things to keep me glad. And if you shut your door and say "My house is dark and dull for you: Run far, run far, and love your day, Your sun and wind and flowery dew, "I must not make you sad," — Ah so I shall be saddest and most still. And never spread my wings to blow Across the sunny windswept hill: I shall but stand outside your door And cry, and trouble you, till you Must let me in to you once more, Or hear me cry, the whole day through. 96 "OH NEVER SHUT YOUR DOOR ON ATE" 97 What do I care how dark your hall With lonely strange unlonged-for night? How cold your hearth, how fast to fall The tears you hid from stark day-hght? Perhaps the fire is Ht, for me! Perhaps the chambers shine and sing. You do not know! Your agony To me may be a brave bright thing! And even if I cannot make The cold house warm and happy, yet Two hearts are swifter not to ache: Two heads are swifter to forget. And if you shut your door on me Too long, until, forspent, I go Away, and leave you utterly, — Oh, I could never shine and blow! YEARS In the night I awake, when the moon is dead, When the gloomy streets are untra versed : When the silence sings, and the night-lamp's gleam Flickers Hke breath of a dying dream. I turn on my face, I cover my ears. But I cannot escape the tramp of the Years: The Years I have known, the Years I must know, And the Years where my body never may go. In the night I awake, when the moon is dead. My dreams like the light are all scattered. I turn on my face, I cover my ears, But they march, they march, the Hosts of the Years. They march to the brink of a strange bright sea, And fall in the tides of Eternity. — Like a ghost-ridden child, I cover my ears, But I hear the death of the strong-shod Years. 98 TO LONELY YOUTH So, lean your head against my knee, And cry, and tell it all to me. You need not play-act now, poor child; You of the windy heart and wild, Whom all the boys and girls pass by Because you are not like them. Cry! Cry till the laughter flickers through, Bright from the good brave pride in you, Bidding you know how young you are, Happy with sunbeams or a star, Or sea-storms or a butterfly. You, whom the boys and girls pass by Have merrier thoughts each dawn of day Than in a year of dancing, they! And yet, you envy them. Ah, there! Toss back your tangle-top, and stare Straight in my eyes, you child. How deep The full-grown passionate wonders sleep! 99 loo TO LONELY YOUTH You cannot guess how rich you are, Lover of silence and a star: — Longing, (great eyes and gleaming curls) Just to be like all other girls; Just to be gay, and quick, and wear The same wide ribbons in your hair. To talk the same sharp chatter, change The same small jokes. While you — can range The Silver Mountains of the Moon In curly-footed elfin shoon; And feel the Spirits of the Air Whisper across that tumbled hair; Can hear, not very far away, True Joy and Sorrow, calUng, "Lay Your childhood by! We come to meet Full soon, the twinkle of your feet; And we shall make you wise, and strong, And gay as gods, not girls, ere long!" Oh, lean your head against my knee, And listen, breathing quietly. For all the ribbons and the curls. You are not like those other girls. — TO LONELY YOUTH loi Dear heart, you cannot laugh as they, Who never know what makes you gay: You must be lonely, often; yes, And learn to love your loneliness. Yes, lonely, — wistful eyes! child, Vexed by the windy heart and wild, Youth hurts you, and must hurt you. Yet Hold to your dreams! nor once forget They shall be utter Youth for you When others' dancing-days are through. Hold to your dreams! What if, to-night, You seemed so stupid, and the light Young laughter lashed you? — some day, sweet. Your turn shall come! your turn, to greet High Friends, deep Love: no puppet-play. But Love's last pain and pride, some day. And nights like this, Tired Heart, will seem The least queer shadow of a dream! And yet (great eyes and tear-wet curls) You would be like those other girls! So be it! Run! Blow out the light. But — no more tears! — You child, good-night! I WENT TO SEEK HER I WENT to seek her, for I love her. I went to seek her; she was gone. Sunshine, seeing all things, canst discover Which of all the roads she wanders on? Wind, knowing wild earth's cracks and crannies, Hast brushed her temples and her hair? In a hid place, where no beast nor man is, - — Where she wanders lonely, yet so fair? Green is the mountain and the meadow: Silver-streaked the whispering willow- tree: River sharp with sun or soft with shadow: Clouds like to lily-blooms, — but she? — Ah, I will seek her, for I love her! I will follow, over hill and sea! Flying air-folk, help me to discover Whither like a wild bird wanders she! THE RED ROAD The wild blood of the gipsy folk Is staining all the wood, The hazes Hke their camp-fires smoke, - Alas, wild brotherhood ! Oh, sweet are berries on the thorn And apples stol'n by night, For we of gipsy folk were born, To blink by the red fire-light. To blink by the red fire-light, oh child. To stare at the naked stars. What wonder that your heart is wild, And walls seem prison-bars? And now the roads are free and clean, And now the wind is cold; The crimson bleeds across the green. The green is rich with gold. The river hisses at the race. The yellow leaves float fast; But we are wanting from our place. Though the gipsy winds blow past. 103 I04 THE RED ROAD Though the gipsy winds blow high, oh child! Though the gipsy moon leans low. Alas that hearts so keen and wild May not rise up and go ! Oh, I am old and I must die, But once my hair was thick, And full of gipsy blood was I — The rich, the bold, the quick. The Little Road across the Hill, The Great Road to the Sea, The Willow Paths, they call me still, And the Red Road sings to me. The Red Road sings to me, oh child, Where the leaves like fire-flames blow. Oh, heart of my young heart, born wild, Rise up, and run, and go! NOT FOR YOUR SAKES Not for your sakes; — although I can but see How glad you are to greet my joy, my youth, (For you remember suddenly in me Your May-days) — ah, but I must tell the truth: Not all to help your groping loneliness, Nor yet because I love you (though I do) To-day I kneel beside you, swift to press Your hands in mine, with laughter; not for you, But for myself. When I shall sometime grow A Httle old, a Httle dim and strange, When fine gray veils across my brightness blow. And mirrors whisper, "Look! you change. You change!" When somehow friends no more beset me; dreams Are dumb at night, and lame at dawn of day; When stealthy as a star the Glory seems To fold itself in fog and tread away; — 105 io6 NOT FOR YOUR SAKES Then, when I think, *'My turn at last is come. Time to put by the wind and sun and sea: Time to begin the darkening path-way home, Where my flown Youth, bright-winged, awaiteth me: Time to slip back, slip back, and be at rest," — Ah then, to know my youth uncursed, unmarred By coldness and bright cruelty, the zest Of feet that dance on hearts: — to take the hard Low shadowed road with no vain bitterness, No bHnd self-hatred, but as one who goes Safe through the lonely places, lanternless, Yet trusting that the road is one he knows; — Oh, for myself, myself, I come to you. Frail blue-veined hands, dulled eyes, and ques- tioning ears. Loving you truly, as I can but do. But seeing half myself through these my tears! COMRADES You need not say one word to me, as up the hill we (Night-time, white-time, all in the whispenng snow) You need not say one word to me, although the whispering trees Seem strange and old as pagan priests in swaying mysteries. You need not think one thought of me, as up the trail we go, (Hill- trail, still- trail, all in the hiding snow;) You need not think one thought of me, although a hare runs by, And off behind the tumbled cairn we hear a red fox cry. Oh, good and rare it is to feel, as through the night we go, (Wild-wise, child-wise, all in the secret snow,) That we are free of heart and foot as hare and fox are free. And yet that I am glad of you, and you are glad of me! 107 SILENCE In the old days, when first I knew you, we Were not afraid of Silence. We could stand Whole growing-spaces, staring splendidly Across the moon-white palpitating land, And turn, and chmb again the mountain-trail With but a sigh of joy. Or we could sit Half-hours by the wood-fire, while the frail Fierce sparks whirled starwards from the heart of it. Our thoughts, it seemed, their quiet distance kept. Their high-roads never meeting, side by side, Moonward and starward, innocent they swept: And we were glad and silent, and the wide Still world seemed all our play-ground, for we knew That we could dream together, I and you. But now, we are afraid of Silence. We Dare not a moment let her in to us. Lest she betray us, blankly, utterly. She who was once so kind, now perilous 1 08 SILENCE 109 As some sly enemy, must stand apart. — The shuttle of our words shoots to and fro In worthless webs; while constantly my heart Yearns back to Silence, begging her to show The old clear look, hushed hps, free eyes. Alas! Her treacherous throbbing presence we must flee: Must blur the precious moments, till they pass To leave me hurt by you. (And you by me?) O bitter broken day when first we knew We dared not dream together, I and you ! AFTER COPYING GOODLY POETRY WORDS, strong lovely words, would ye were mine, And not another's! I am covetous Of your slow cadences and flight divine. Would that my verses cried and murmured thus! For as my hand moved over you, I knew How beautiful you were. I loved you well, As the lips love rose-petals cold with dew, As fingers love the flutings of a shell, — And as the heart loves one so very fair She must be always distant, like the moon. So did I love you, delicate verses, rare And wondrous with the dawn-wind's throbbing tune. O words, strong lovely words! would ye were mine! — I know I am too vainly covetous; For if I die without one singing sign. What matters it while ye can echo thus? AFTER COPYING GOODLY POETRY m And yet my heart is faint and hot in me. As childless wives for stranger-babies pine, My heart cries out, oh, very hungrily. Words, words, strong lovely words, would ye were mine! THE HERMIT ON THE DUNES Far away to the South Where the sea-hill heaps A gray gull wanders, A gray sail sweeps. Far away to the South Where the sky leans low My gray thoughts journey, My gray dreams blow. In my house by the dunes I have Silence for wife, Though the long shore shudders With the surf's drawn strife. Oh, she broods by my hearth And she bends to my bed. She is strange as the old Norns And dumb as the dead. THE HERMIT ON THE DUNES 113 Far away to the South Where the sea heaps high The gulls fade ever, The sails all die, — — Far away to the South — II Over the moors, the sweet scorched moors, (Fern and bay and a blackberry brake,) The road to the harbor-town allures, Winding away like a warm brown snake. Quivering up in the hot blue light The village spires stand sharp and white: The wind-mill twinkles; the harbor shines Over the tops of the dwarfed dune-pines; And the peak of a sloop slips past the bar, Gleaming and still as a sea-bound star. O huddled house on the drifted dune, Have you locked in your heart my right to June? Will you hold me here with my head in my hands, Staring across the blank bright sands, Out to sea, and always to sea. Where only the gulls' wings beckon me? 114 THE HERMIT ON THE DUNES I am hungry for faces, thirsty for words; I am troubled with water and weary of birds: Shall I go, past the clattering gray-winged mil!, Down the steep lane over the hill? Where the poplar trees in the church-yard quake, And the bees in the roses rumble and shake, Where the sunburned children dance laughing down To the long wet wharves at the back of the town? — But one gray house in the lane is blind. Its silver poplars know well the wind: Its damask roses hang red, hang deep. But the house is shuttered and fast asleep. I mil not go down the crooked lane. I think it is better to wait. To wait? Shall I then turn to a boy again, Or my mother stand by the swinging gate? — Over the moors, the sweet scorched moors, (Blackbird, swallow, and butterfly,) The road to the harbor- town allures, But why should I follow it? Ah, why? THE HERMIT ON THE DUNES 115 in Seven gulls sit screaming high On her prow that cut the sky; And her name is rubbed away By the wind-and- water play; While the silent ceaseless sands Hide her quick keel in their hands. All her goodly timbers gape, Hurt and humbled out of shape, And the tides sweep green and cold Through her hollow-hearted hold. O tall ship! tall ship! I too Cast aground grow old like you. Does your heart beat? Have you breath Underneath those bones of death? Do you dream? do you awake Shuddering at dim day-break, Only to fall back again To the old-time shift of pain : Tide, and sun, and wind, and rain? tall ship! tall ship! I too Once was high-sea-bold as you! ii6 THE HERMIT ON THE DUNES IV I watched the endless gull-wings fade, I dreamed my old dim endless things : Looked up, and saw a gold-haired maid Against the sea, with arms like wings Spreading her green scarf to the wind, Leaning and laughing to the sun. — Ah me! her brightness made me blind, Till I could hardly see her run White-footed down the thin white foam, SUm-bodied up the slippery sands; Like some wild sea-maid, dancing home With shining feet and flickering hands. — I crouched beneath the dune. She passed; Her song, sea-smothered, and her gleams Fading along the surf at last Like all the sun that haunts my dreams. — The brave day fades, too blue, too fair. Sunset and silence and the night. — O golden head and wild heart, where Are you some glad home's lasting light? THE HERMIT ON THE DUNES 117 Low water — low water ^ silence on the sea, — Across the moors the Sunday bells ring warm and drowsily. Low water — low water — dim and smooth and pale. Across the moors the windmill waves an idle Sabbath sail. Low water — low water — plover peeping faint, — Across the moors the church-doors swing for sinner and for saint. Low water — low water — silence on the sea, — Across the moors they pray to God, while here He breathes on me! VI Suddenly I awoke. The wind was awake before. He tramped on the desolate dunes; he battered and beat on my door. And the sea rose up to his shout; and mad, stark mad in the night, Plunging and grappling and great they staggered and swung to their fight. ii8 THE HERMIT ON THE DUNES I leaned out into the dark, to the stinging smother- ing wrack; But my eyes were blinder than Fear: I was beaten and buffetted back. And they struggled and stumbled and groaned in the dark of the dunes till day, Till the wind sank down in the sand, and the sea crept wounded away. Then I slept, but my dreams went wild; for I fought with Myself, and failed; And I knew that the stars were ashamed, and the sea-gulls jeered me and railed. Till I rose with a terrible cry, and flung off the blood from my face, — "Oh bitter and barren Self! Give place to my soul! give place!" And a God flashed out of a cloud, and his eyes were like strong kind flame, But I woke as he swept me a sword, and cheered me, and cried my name, — And I thought that a thousand years had been tossed to Eternity, Since suddenly I awoke, and the wind cried out, and the sea. THE HERMIT ON THE DUNES 119 VII I shall not lie in any grave Beneath a toppling lichened stone. When I grow weariest, the wave And turning tide shall have their own. I cannot wait for folk to find The shattered burned-out wreck of me: To trouble it with being kind And mocking its mortahty, And stealing from my helpless hold The lonely death that I have earned: To dare the untried utmost, bold With the sea-splendor I have learned. I shall not wait too long, at last; But as, so often, I have leapt Light-limbed across the surf, and cast My sorrows from me as I swept Out — out — across the clean wild foam, — So then, I shall be sure and free. Only, I need not think of home, Nor fear the hunger of the sea. I20 THE HERMIT ON THE DUNES I know it cannot be too strange To die, as I have lived, alone, i — But ah, my Soul! where wilt thou range? What tide can claim thee for its own? — THE SONGS OF CONN THE FOOL I WILL go up the mountain after the Moon: She is caught in a dead fir-tree. Like a great pale apple of silver and pearl, Like a great pale apple is she. I will leap and will catch her with quick cold hands And carry her home in my sack. I will set her down safe on the oaken bench That stands at the chimney-back. And then I will sit by the fire all night, And sit by the fire all day. I will gnaw at the Moon to my heart's delight Till I gnaw her slowly away. And while I grow mad with the Moon's cold taste The World will beat at my door, Crying "Come out! " and crying " Make haste, And give us the Moon once more! " 122 THE SONGS OF CONN THE FOOL But I shall not answer them ever at all. I shall laugh, as I count and hide The great black beautiful Seeds of the Moon In a flower-pot deep and wide. Then I shall lie down and go fast asleep, Drunken with flame and aswoon. But the seeds will sprout and the seeds will leap, The subtle swift seeds of the Moon. And some day, all of the World that cries And beats at my door shall see A thousand moon-leaves spring from my thatch On a wonderful white Moon-tree! Then each shall have Moons to his heart's desire: Apples of silver and pearl; Apples of orange and copper fire Setting his five wits aswirl! And then they will thank me, who mock me now, "Wanting the Moon is he," — Oh, I'm off to the mountain after the Moon, Ere she falls from the dead fir-tree! THE SONGS OF CONN THE FOOL 123 II You had better be careful and make the door faster to-night. I know there are Those round the house, that are hungry for good fire-hght. If you open the door, they will thrust their long feet in the crack, And leap on the threshold, and drive you all shiver- ing back! And they'll tease you with curly queer tongues in your faces like flame, With winking their round eyes and snapping their fingers and mincing your name. Till you cover your ears and your eyes and start praying, while They With the cakes from the cup-board, the ale from the jug, do away. And One will lie down in your bed, and his feet will be black With the bad lasting mud of the bogs and the dark mountain-track; 124 THE SONGS OF CONN THE FOOL And One will go worry the poor simple pigs in the sty, In a shape like a pig, silver-skinned, with an emerald eye. Oh, I tell you, it's best to be careful and bar the door faster this night! They are dancing out there in the dark, but they hunger for good fire-light. It's a wonder, now, you to be sitting so pleasant and still. Don't you hear Them there, scuffling and scram- bling across the door-sill? Ill There came two ravens to carry me away. And they flew, and they flew, all the livelong day. One took me by the head, and one by the feet. Like a strange stupid corpse that is borne down the street. One tickled all my face with the brushing of his wings, While my hair blew whistling back like a hundred wild harp-strings. THE SONGS OF CONN THE FOOL 125 The other pecked and snatched at my foot all the day As they carried me away, and carried me away. They carried me across from the shore to the sea, And that was a trouble and a fear to me. They carried me across from the sea to the shore, And my bones they were weary and my soul it was sore. They carried me across from the day to the night, And it seemed wrong to me when I could not see the light. They carried me across from the night to the day, But I had forgotten how to greet the sun and pray. They lit upon a pine-tree, and the tree it was high, On a bare bald mountain that wore against the sky. They tangled up my feet in the needles of the pine. And they gave me cones for bread and the bitter pitch for wine. And they swung me up and down till I cracked the brittle sky, But I had forgotten how to shudder or to cry. 126 THE SONGS OF CONN THE FOOL The sun came so close that he troubled all my head. He was like a smelting-furnace, very hot, very red. The stars came so close that I longed to snatch them down. They were sharp shining ones, like king's jewels in a crown. And the two ravens sat in the dark pine-tree, And they jeered and they jibed and they screamed loud at me. The pine-pitch smeared my mouth and the cones I could not eat. And the needles pricked and wove round my head and my feet. And I had forgotten how to sing or to pray; And I had forgotten if it were night or day. And there I might have stayed till it came my time to die, But an Angel out of Heaven passed fl3dng quickly by. He blew upon my feet, and he blew upon my head. And "Wherefore lie you here?" were the words that he said. THE SONGS OF CONN THE FOOL 127 Then I fell a thousand fathoms, and I flew a thou- sand miles, And I feared as I flew for the two ravens' wiles. But the Angel went behind, like a goodly wind and wise, And he carried me across, as a homeward swallow flies. Oh, he carried me across from the night to the day, And then I remembered how to greet the sun and pray. He carried me across from the sea to the shore, And when I saw the grass, I blessed him even more. He carried me across, and he left me, and he went Like a fog that dissolves, like a wind that is spent. Then I walked upon my feet to my own cabin-door, And there was my good hound lying on the floor; But I heard the hearth-fire sing and the clock tick on the shelf Before I remembered that I was myself! And I ate a crumb of bread, and I drank a sup of wine: It was sweeter than the cones and the evil pitch of pine: 128 THE SONGS OF CONN THE FOOL And I fell upon my knees and began to sing and pray, For I thought that it was best to be thanking God that day. (Oh, there came two ravens to carry me away!) IV You must do nothing false Or cruel-Hpped or low; For I am Conn the Fool, And Conn the Fool will know. I went by the door When Patrick Joyce looked out. He did not wish for me Or anyone about. He thought I did not see The fat bag in his hand. But Conn heard clinking gold And Conn could understand. I went by the door Where Michael Kane lay dead. I saw his Mary tie A red shawl round her head: THE SONGS OF CONN* THE FOOL 129 I saw a dark man lean Against her garden-wall. They did not know that Conn Walked by at late dusk-fall. You must not scold or lie, Or hate or steal or kill, For I shall tell the wind That leaps along the hill. And he will tell the stars That sing and never lie: And they will shout your sin In God's face, bye and bye. And God will not forget For all He loves you so. He made me Conn the Fool, And bade me always know! npHE following pages are advertisements of recent important poetry published by the Macmillan Company Just Published JOHN MASEFIELD'S The Daffodil Fields Decorated boards, $1.25 net; postpaid, $1.33 "The Daffodil Fields" is a vivid expansion of the wonderful nar- rative art that John Masefield has employed with such tremendous emphasis in "The Everlasting Mercy" and in "The Story of a Round-House. " This poem-story contains the finest poetry Masefield has written and in its vigor and reserve continues to stamp him as the greatest artist of the day. "Neither in the design nor in the telling did, or could, 'Enoch Arden' come within miles of the artistic truth of 'The Daffodil Fields.' " — Professor QuUler-Couch of Cambridge. "It is tremendously strong." — Current Opinion. "Mr. Masefield gives us passages of sheer beauty." — Boston Advertiser PUBLISHED BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York JOHN MASEFIELD'S The Story of a Round-HoUSe, and other Poems. Decorated boards, i2mo., $1.30 net, postpaid, $1.43 "John Masefield has produced the finest literature of the year." — J. M. Barrie. "John Masefield is the most interesting poetic personality of the day." — The Continent. "Ah! the story of that rounding the Horn! Never in prose has the sea been so tremendously described." — Chicago Evening Post. "Masefield's new book attracts the widest attention from those who in any degree are interested in the quality of present day litera- ture." — Boston Transcript. "A remarkable poem of the sea." — San Francisco Chronicle. "Vivid and thrillingly realistic." — Current Literature. "A genuine sailor and a genuine poet are a rare combination; they have produced a rare poem of the sea, which has made Mr. Mase- field's position in literature secure beyond the reach of caviling." — Everybody's Magazine. "Masefield has prisoned in verse the spirit of life at sea." —N. Y. Sun. "There is strength about everything Masefield writes that compels the feeling that he has an inward eye on which he draws to shape new films of old pictures. In these pictures is freshness combined with power, which form the keynotes of his poetry." — N. Y. Globe. PUBLISHED BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York JOHN MASEFIELD*S The Everlasting Mercy, and The Widow in Bye Street Decorated boards, $1.25 net; postpaid, $1.38 " The Everlasting Mercy " was awarded the Edward de PoJignac prize of $500 by the Royal Society of Literature for the best imaginative work of the year. "John IMasefield is the man of the hour, and the man of to-morrow too, in poetry and in the playwriting craft." — John Galsworthy. " — recreates a wholly new drama of existence." — William Stan- ley Braithwaite, N. Y. Times. "Mr. Masefield comes like a flash of light across contemporary English poetry, and he trails glory where his imagination reveals the substances of life. The improbable has been accomplished by Mr. Masefield; he has made poetry out of the very material that has re- fused to yield it for almost a score of years. It has only yielded it with a passion of Keats, and shaped it with the imagination of Cole- ridge." — Boston Evening Transcript. "Originality, force, distinction, and deep knowledge of the human heart." — Chicago Record- Herald. "They are. truly great pieces." — Kentucky Post. "A vigor and sincerity rare in modern English literature." — The Independent. "If Mr. Masefield has occasionally appeared to touch a reminiscent chord with George Meredith, it is merely an example of his good taste and the sameness of big themes." — George Middleton in La Folletle's Magazine. PUBLISHED BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York Fires By W. VV. GIBSON Author of "Daily Bread," " Womenkind," etc. Cloth, i2mo., $1.25 net In this striking book of verse Mr. Gibson writes of simple, homely folk with touching sympathy. The author's previous book, "Daily Bread," was heralded far and wide as the book of the year in the field of poetry; in "Fires" are contained many of the same characteristics which distinguished it. The story of a girl whose lover is struck dead by a flying bit of stone; of a wife who has unusual patience with her husband's shortcomings; of a flute player; of a shop and a shopkeeper; of a machine and those who feed it — these are the subjects of a number of the separate pieces. BY THE SAME AUTHOR Daily Bread in Three Books izmo., $i.2s net Womenkind i2mo., $1.25 ?iet "There is a man in England who with sufficient plainness and sufficient profoundness is addressing himself to life, and daring to chant his own times and social circumstances, who ought to become known to America. He is bringing a message which might well rouse his day and generation to an understanding of and a sympathy with life's disinherited — the overworked masses." "A Millet in word-painting, who writes with a terrible simpHcity, is Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, born in Hexham, England, in 1878, of whom Canon Cheyne wrote: 'A new poet of the people has risen up among us — the story of a soul is written as plainly in "Daily Bread" as in "The Divine Comedy" and in "Paradise Lost."'" "Mr. Gibson is a genuine singer of his own day, and turns into appealing harmony the world's harshly jarring notes of poverty and pain." — Abridged from an article in The Outlook, PUBLISHED BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York NEW POEMS AND ESSAYS By WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS "Mr. Yeats is probably the most important as well as the most widely known of the men concerned directly in the so-called Celtic renaissance. More than this, he stands among the few men to be reckoned with in modem poetry." — New York Herald. The Green Helmet and Other Poems Decorated cloth, i2mo., $1.25 The initial piece in this volume is a deliciously conceived heroic farce, quaint in humor and sprightly in action. It tells of the difficulty in which two simple Irish folk find themselves when they enter into an agreement with an apparition of the sea, who demands that they knock off his head and who maintains that after they have done that he will knock off theirs. There is a real meaning in the play which it will not take the thoughtful reader long to discover. Besides this there are a number of shorter poems, notably one in which Mr. Yeats answers the critics of "The Playboy of the Western World." Plays New edition. Cloth, ismo., $2.00 net This edition of Mr. Yeats's plays has been thoroughly revised and contains considerable new matter in the way of appendices. "The Countess Cathleen" and "The Land of Heart's Desire" are presented in new form, the versions being those which the Irish Players use. PUBLISHED BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York MAY 8 1913 uiiiin'.H'y'.tHHsinHW.