The Garden of the Idle Mind SjV Isabel Moore ' ■I'". ',' ."'.'■ {''J^?'■"'■ * ■.i-ilS''^'^'S5''^''' H ^,^v * Ki'''.f-iii^''-!'i-^'^'f,t ^--f'S ^;''*i^'' To one who knows ''the blind bird in the hearf The Garden of the Idle Mind By Isabel Moore New York: Printed bv Roderic C. Penfield, 1600 Broadway 1916 22 iBK ^ CONTENTS The Garden of the Idle Mind ... 7 Maids of Honour 8 Matrix 9 September 10 From a Bedroom Window . . . . n The Underland 12 The Metal Flower of Mycenae . . 13 The Song of Silence 14 Fireflies 15 Comrades 16 Tides 17 The Road TO Irish Village .... 18 A Pagan 19 Ghosts 20 A Lament from the Portuguese . . 21 To AN Indian Maiden 22 Yellow-Dog-Dingo 23 Echoes 24 Witch Hazel 25 An Indian Maid's Love Song ... 26 A Dream 28 My Garden 29 A Vision 30 Giants 31 Death's Lullaby 32 The Shower 33 A Thanksgiving 34 Departure 35 THE GARDEN OF THE IDLE MIND (Published in Life, April 21, 1904.) The Garden of the Idle Mind A gentle pleasance knows; A lifting lilt with every kind Of wandering wind that blows. Within its fragrant dalliance I linger all the day To wanton with the madcap, Chance, In happy roundelay. And, when the twilight comes, I find A richer destiny: — The Garden of the Idle Mind With dream subdueth me. MAIDS OF HONOUR. The shad-blow maidens reach their snowy arms In sprays of blossom on the breath of Spring, So scantly clad, the dears, that at alarms Of that same breath they fall a-shivering: — Fair bridesmaids are they to the coming throng Of festal pageants that to Spring belong. MATRIX. Night is precious to behold Vaulted so vast and high :— Like matrix of lapis-lazuli Veined through with gold. SEPTEMBER. Summer is too young to die, and yet The purple hillsides brood In ample quietude That warns us never to forget The strength of Nature. Everywhere The goldenrod has reached its prime And droops: while, here and there, Gone glorious before its time, A crimsoning or russet branch Exults upon the air. Old squirrels look askance And whisk about with grave inconsequence: The sun-kissed corn stalks wait Their certitude of fate: Afar, unto the mystic marshland, The stubble earth yields precedence: And, flaunting a golden charm In the sea-breeze' sturdy face. With a whispering alarm Again, in turn, gives place To the wandering, aimless sand. Each day may be the last bestowed on man Of this year's ripe fulfillment. The waiting rapture of the hidden wood Breathes very gently, not to interrupt In ways of rude disturbance too abrupt The marvel, by us little understood. Of perfectness with tender sorrow blent. The mellow sunshine that in joy began Its happy life, is somewhat hazy now, as though A mist of unshed tears were in its eyes. All is complete. There is no glad surprise Such as June brings. Like a sad requiem each day passes slow. For a day only, or a week, shall see Disaster wrought of sheer necessity. As — when perfection e'en is perfected — It passes on to join the mighty dead, And thus enrich the fertile soil again: that Spring May her sweet tribute offer to another harvesting. FROM A BEDROOM WINDOW. Eastward toward the morning And the Hudson in its strength, With the river boats adorning Its winding, lordly length, Blue hills and forest ranges Greet the eye: Flecked o'er with shadowy changes When the winds pass by. Eastward, whence the dayspring Has its birth. Renewing life: and blessing The old earth. Blue and green and silver, — Nature's heraldry — So dawn preludes the sunrise And the pomp of day. II THE UNDERLAND. (Published in Smart Set, March, 1906.) Deep is the mystery of the Underland. ''The air is gentle as the breath of love And winter is unknown. The sun is radiant, yet never withers, And stars dance in the breeze; While birds, like winged flowers, Come and go with sweet inconsequence From bough to bough. At sunset those who love can find each other; Youth is their dear companion; Death himself is dead.'* So spake Chief Opaleeta, brought back to life By those who wished him well but did him ill. And, often now, at sunset-time, when all the waiting world Is filled with pictures, do the people of his tribe Seek in the limpid waters of the lake A glimpse of that long cherished dream, the Underland: — Yet see they little, for their day is not yet done. 12 THE METAL FLOWER OF MYCENAE. A golden flower on a silver stalk, Found in Mycenae sepulchre. Whose were the hands, of all the Cy- clopes guild, To fashion that fair treasure? Whose The brain to plan it? Whose the feeling — Human, intimate, discerning — That prompted brain and hands? Ah, rarest flower! Thy metal is but symbol. Yet the symbol lasts: for many centuries Has lain, away from light and air, Within the secret tomb of well-forgotten kings. So now the symbol, come again to man, Breathes forth the spirit that knew it Actually. Also the fugitive spirit Of flower life, long vanished. And the meaning Of flower life in resurrection. 13 THE SONG OF SILENCE. (Published in Field and Stream, January, 1913.) The Silence sings to me a little song Of wandering wind, so lonely in delight, That, almost as it lingers, it is gone Adown the distant purples of the night. O, time of magic, and of night, and wind! Of forest depths and spaciousness of sky! In my hushed heart thy rapture is enshrined As the sweet song of Silence passes by. 14 FIREFLIES. Fireflies in grass that is grey with night; Brief drifting sparks of irridescent light No sooner come than spent; Yet from the great god sent, The god of light and life and fire; Seeking, seeking busily, higher and higher, — Instinct of flame — The sun from which they came; The god that gave them birth By mother earth Deep in the grass that is grey with night. Though refulgent with delight! 15 COMRADES. Silver Heels is a little boat That leads a life of vagrancy: Of all the craft there is afloat Silver Heels is the one for me! Over the water she skims with glee; Like stormy petrel she dips the wave; No other wanderer of the sea Is half so dainty nor half so brave. She ever answers the master-hand. Though a bit willful now and then, She's true and ready to understand The strange, shy whims of sailor men. A song she sings of what might be; A tale she tells of adventure bold; Sailing, sailing, — magically The song is sung and the tale is told. With the beauty of both my fancy reels ; — Song and tale of eternity — Never was friend like Silver Heels/ Sailing out to a chartless sea. i6 TIDES. The tides of love that come and go From thee to me; from me to thee; I sometimes fear will overflow — Howe'er so strong the dykes may be- Engulfing us forever! 17 THE ROAD TO IRISH VILLAGE. [t's a dear old road that leads to Irish Village A^long the upper ledges of the sad, sequestered hills: Sleeping in the moonlight Or redolent of sunlight, 'Tis surely panacea for the heart's deep ills. Strange big footprints wore its perfect turnings. Of quarrymen who long ago passed on to well- earned rest: Whose spirits perhaps wander Upon it now, and ponder O'er the silent beauty of its last bequest. Gone are the men who made it for the first time : Gone are the quarrymen who toiled its farthest space: Abandoned are the quarry holes. Filled with stagnant water pools. Hidden by the aspens that closely interlace. But the road leads on to the heart of Irish Village, Lying like a matrix gem near crystal-fringed stream. Man or woman seldom passes On that road of short-cropped grasses Near the edges of the ledges that o'erhang the land of dream. i8 A PAGAN. The star-embroidered heaven is my tent, And hills my bed Of freedom, sloping to the seas: Dim, grey-green seas that wander to the poles Till all eternity unrolls. Thus Beauty ministers to my content; I rest — God comforted — Within her arms: taking my fill of ease. Who would not be a Pagan of the Night Camped, so, in primitive delight! 19 GHOSTS. Phantoms of faces haunt the phantom deep That long have passed unto their final sleep : Phantoms of ships long sunk and mouldered to decay Cross and recross their course of yesterday. Sad are the souls of ships that sail the main Without a hope of entering port again: Sad are the souls of men who never more can be Home from a phantom ship on a phantom sea. 20 A LAMENT FROM THE PORTUGUESE. (Published in The Reader, December, 1902.) In my silent retreat, From grief never free, All the birds of the fields Are lamenting with me. I join their lamenting In my silent retreat: Our cry pierces heaven And falls at God's feet. 21 TO AN INDIAN MAIDEN. O, Face-of- Flying-Shadow! In the clouds I see thy beauty Ever fleeing, never lingering: In the w^aters of the lake I see thee, See thee, hear thy gentle laughter, Look again — to find thee gone. In the silence of the forest thou art almost by my side, Yet, when I turn to clasp thee closer, closer, Thou hast slipped ofif with sisters of the wood. Among the grasses thou art ever dancing; Faint is thy tip-toe presence; I can almost see thee Bend aside the quivering greens and russets As the rhythmic winds are singing thy dear name. O, Face-of-Flying-Shadow! For a time thou mayest elude me by such art: — But thy face, O, Flying-Shadow, is the shadow of my heart! 22 YELLOW-DOG-DINGO. In a far land across the sea My dog lies buried near a tree: — I roam the world unceasingly — My dog lies buried near a tree. His face is turned to greet the sun And his long rest is but begun: — My lot to wander all alone — And his long rest is but begun. My dear dead dog in that far land, Now, as in life, you understand Most of what truth and love command. Now, as in life, you understand. When it comes time for me to die And seek the well-spring from on High, God grant that my dear dog and I May find each other in the sky And spend in love a perfect day. A cloudless day of spirit play, — In romp and glee and roundelay — A spirit day of tender play! My dear dead dog lies near a tree: Above hangs heaven's blue canopy. 23 ECHOES. There is laughter on the face of the rocks, Tossed up by the southeast wind : Laughter that is dewy with tears, Laughter that nobody hears. In the temple of ages enshrined, A myriad echoes of pulsating tumult Cry out through the pale green gloom To the dark that has never known light; Which abides, a perpetual night. In tortuous arcades of doom. Laughter and tears become quietly one At the close of a lingering day: And on the face of the rocks far above Are like wandering murmurs of love By the wind, in caprice, blown astray. 24 WITCH HAZEL. Hazel, Hazel, Witch of Autumn, When the world is breathing slow, Yellow-spangled pranks you're playing By your magic thus essaying A belated beauty show! 25 AN INDIAN MAID'S LOVE SONG. The new fire leaps upward! Leaps — licking and lashing my spirit — A demon! a god! At the root of the tiame is a radiance Steadfast, intense, everlasting. This is the soul of the flame, Irridescent, a-quiver, transparent. The heart of the god: the sword of the demon. Who knoweth his coming? He comes like a snake through the grasses: He comes like a fawn to the brookside: He comes like a star in its wisdom: Like a father of pity: Like a master of strength: Like the sweet breath of heaven : Comes the wonderful man of my love. Great is the beauty of yielding: — Should Death beckon to me at this instant Yet would I go : — with rejoicing. How ignorant was I! How ignorant! Till thou dids't reveal thyself unto me I lived in the shade: I thirsted and yet knew it not! I was alone — and wondering why! O, the day that thou camest to me Eternity cannot forget! O, the day that thou camest to me That day saw the birth of me! O, my beloved : What if the twilight shall meet us Some future time! This day will have been. The sap runs, the sap runs, O, heart-of-me! Heart of my heart! demon of love! god! Lap me and lave me in flame till I die! 26 Fog is resting on the mountains And the rains are close at hand. The plants will be growing and the fruit will be ripening, And when it is ripe it will fall to the ground. It falls because it is so ripe. The flowers are standing up, waving in the wind, But the time of rains will soon set in. 27 A DREAM. My lot in life is toil, My only pastime dreams: My joy is far as some lone star That coldly gleams. My journeyings are long, My leisure not begun : But who would cease to dream of peace That might be won? I wander all alone: I pass from year to year: And yet 1 may, perhaps, some day. Behold peace near! 28 MY GARDEN. There is a Garden in a far off land To which my heart, like homing pigeon, flies; And, faint with joy that few can understand, Settles into the lap of Paradise. Like morning dew all radiantly empearled Within the azure of a quiet day, | Far from the mazes of the blindfold word My happy garden is hid safe away. ^ Upon a margin of a southern sea. Among the beauties of an orange grove. Lies fast asleep this Garden that, to me, Is open sesame of all treasure-trove. My Garden, O my Garden of the South! Unto thy restful strength I long to fly. Once more to breathe the fragrance of thy mouth! Once more within thy tranquil lap to lie! 29 A VISION. The City of the Soul is terraced high Above the humid breath Of the shadow glen called Death, Where birds of sorrow hover nigh, Yet poised for ready flight Adown the deepening night: — Far, far upon the height, Clad in the beauty of its dreaming And touched by the hand of light Into a perfect seeming. The City of the Soul stands loftily Against a horizon of distant sea. 30 GIANTS. The opalescent mountains lie at rest Upon the great, bare bosom of the Earth, Titanic off-spring of convulsive birth. Like gods at leisure, with their fill of wine. They stretch their lazy lengths through storm and shine In deep repose, for cycles, on her breast. 31 DEATH'S LULLABY. Death sings: Sleep thou, O heart, so sad, so tired and broken, Lay thou confidingly upon my breast: Eternal peace will such an act betoken And perfect rest. Give up thyself unto my ready keeping: Trust but thine all unto my lullaby care, And on thee shall the well earned joy of sleeping Fall unaware. Within these arms, so strong, so true and tender, There is a refuge for thy weary head: What though the world thinks it a sad surrender And calls thee dead: — 'Tis but the names of things that balk man's knowing. And hold him in a thraldom rank with fears: Then sleep that sleep, beyond all, rest-bestowing. Till dawn appears! 32 THE SHOWER. Like a cool and soothing hand To a fever-throbbing heart Th' hush of rain fell on the land, Glad to do its bidden part. Like a faint, sweet mother-song To a wearied child of day O'er the fields it passed along: — Then, as gently, crept away. 33 A THANKSGIVING. Let me lay aside my body with thanksgiving and my temporal affairs with joy! I will fold away my life as a used garment; soil- ed and creased is it so I never again shall wear it. The spirit of my thought and my emotion arises, purged and bathed, To go forth free, into pure air, space, past and present, time and eternity. Like th' ancient hero, I received strength from mother-earth. My body received strength by occasional contact: But now, my strength comes from within and from beyond. Meeting like electric currents. The cast-off body served its turn. Let it pay nature's debt. And, because this is so, I appreciate the past, Though finished with it: While I — / go forth — alone, and free! Never more am I to wear flesh garments: never! Gloria! 34 DEPARTURE. Children of Silence wander on The Terrace of Oblivon Where the hushed twilight deepens Into the purples of the final dark: And, out upon the ebb and flow, Children of Silence come and go With us, as we embark. 35