PS 3511 
 .R94B6 
 
 1915 
 
% 
 
 
 r»V 
 
 
 
 
 <\. ■> . . * 
 
 
 o V 
 
 4 o. 
 
 
 
 
 .."\ 
 
 srv 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 .0 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^qN 
 
 
 
 ■;■ 
 
 
 " 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 "o V 
 
 
 w 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 *Kt.nf< 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 V 
 
 
 
 
 
 
A BOY'S WILL 
 
A BOY'S WILL 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT FROST 
 
 AUTHOR OF "NORTH OF BOSTON 1 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 1915 
 
i 
 
 ** 
 
 v; 
 
 „1> l 
 
 * 
 
 /■ 
 
 <V 
 
TO 
 
 E. M. F. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTO MY OWN ii 
 
 The youth is persuaded that he will be rather 
 more than less himself for having forsworn 
 the world. 
 
 GHOST HOUSE 12 
 
 He is happy in society of his choosing. 
 
 MY NOVEMBER GUEST 14 
 
 He is in love with being misunderstood. 
 
 LOVE AND A QUESTION 15 
 
 He is in doubt whether to admit real trouble 
 to a place beside the hearth with love. 
 
 A LATE WALK 17 
 
 He courts the autumnal mood. 
 
 STARS 18 
 
 There is no oversight of human affairs. 
 
 STORM FEAR 19 
 
 He is afraid of his own isolation. 
 
 WIND AND WINDOW FLOWER ... 20 
 Out of the winter things he fashions a story 
 of modern love. 
 
 TO THE THAWING WIND 22 
 
 He calls on change through the violence of the 
 elements. 
 
 vii 
 
via CONTENTS 
 
 A PRAYER IN SPRING 23 
 
 He discovers that the greatness of love lies not 
 in forward-looking thoughts; 
 
 FLOWER-GATHERING 24 
 
 nor yet in any spur it may be to ambition. 
 
 ROSE POGONIAS 25 
 
 He is no dissenter from the ritualism of 
 nature ; 
 
 ASKING FOR ROSES 27 
 
 nor from the ritualism of youth which is make- 
 believe. 
 
 • WAITING— Afield at Dusk 29 
 
 He arrives at the turn of the year. 
 
 IN A VALE 31 
 
 Out of old longings he fashions a story. 
 
 A DREAM PANG 33 
 
 He is shown by a dream how really well it is 
 with him. 
 
 IN NEGLECT 34 
 
 He is scornful of folk his scorn cannot reach. 
 
 THE VANTAGE POINT 35 
 
 And again scornful, but there is no one hurt. 
 
 - MOWING 36 
 
 He takes up life simply with the small tasks. 
 
 GOING FOR WATER 37 
 
 PART II 
 
 REVELATION . . . . .... 39 
 
 He resolves to become intelligible, at least to 
 himself, since there is no help else; 
 
CONTENTS ix 
 
 THE TRIAL BY EXISTENCE . . . .40 
 and to know definitely what he thinks about 
 the soul; 
 
 IN EQUAL SACRIFICE 44 
 
 about love; 
 
 THE TUFT OF FLOWERS 47 
 
 about fellowship; 
 
 SPOILS OF THE DEAD 50 
 
 about death; 
 
 PAN WITH US 52 
 
 about art (his own) ; 
 
 THE DEMIURGE'S LAUGH 54 
 
 about science. 
 
 PART III 
 
 NOW CLOSE THE WINDOWS ... . .55 
 It is time to make an end of speaking. 
 
 A LINE- STORM SONG 56 
 
 It is the autumnal mood with a difference. 
 
 OCTOBER . . 58 
 
 He sees days slipping from him that were the 
 best for what they were. 
 
 MY BUTTERFLY 59 
 
 There are things that can never be the same. 
 
 RELUCTANCE 62 
 
 \ 
 
A BOY'S WILL 
 
 INTO MY OWN 
 
 One of my wishes is that those dark trees, 
 So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze, 
 Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom, 
 But stretched away unto the edge of doom. 
 
 I should not be withheld but that some day 
 Into their vastness I should steal away, 
 Fearless of ever finding open land, 
 Or highway where the slow wheel pours the 
 sand. 
 
 I do not see why I should e'er turn back, 
 Or those should not set forth upon my track 
 To overtake me, who should miss me here 
 And long to know if still I held them dear. 
 
 They would not find me changed from him 
 
 they knew — 
 Only more sure of all I thought was true. 
 ii 
 
GHOST HOUSE 
 
 I dwell in a lonely house I know 
 That vanished many a summer ago, 
 And left no trace but the cellar walls, 
 And a cellar in which the daylight falls, 
 And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow. 
 
 O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield 
 The woods come back to the mowing field; 
 The orchard tree has grown one copse 
 Of new wood and old where the woodpecker 
 chops ; 
 The footpath down to the well is healed. 
 
 I dwell with a strangely aching heart 
 In that vanished abode there far apart 
 On that disused and forgotten road 
 That has no dust-bath now for the toad. 
 Night comes ; the black bats tumble and dart ; 
 
 12 
 
GHOST HOUSE 13 
 
 The whippoorwill is coming to shout 
 And hush and cluck and flutter about : 
 
 I hear him begin far enough away 
 
 Full many a time to say his say 
 Before he arrives to say it out. 
 
 It is under the small, dim, summer star, 
 I know not who these mute folk are 
 Who share the unlit place with me — • 
 Those stones out under the low-limbed tree 
 Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar. 
 
 They are tireless folk, but slow and sad, 
 Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad, — 
 With none among them that ever sings, 
 And yet, in view of how many things, 
 As sweet companions as might be had. 
 
MY NOVEMBER GUEST 
 
 My Sorrow, when she's here with me, 
 Thinks these dark days of autumn rain 
 
 Are beautiful as days can be; 
 
 She loves the bare, the withered tree ; 
 She walks the sodden pasture lane. 
 
 Her pleasure will not let me stay. 
 
 She talks and I am fain to list: 
 She's glad the birds are gone away, 
 She's glad her simple worsted grey 
 
 Is silver now with clinging mist. 
 
 The desolate, deserted trees, 
 
 The faded earth, the heavy sky, 
 The beauties she so truly sees, 
 She thinks I have no eye for these, 
 And vexes me for reason why. 
 
 Not yesterday I learned to know 
 The love of bare November days 
 
 Before the coming of the snow, 
 
 But it were vain to tell her so, 
 
 And they are better for her praise. 
 
LOVE AND A QUESTION 
 
 A stranger came to the door at eve, 
 
 And he spoke the bridegroom fair. 
 He bore a green-white stick in his hand, 
 
 And, for all burden, care. 
 He asked with the eyes more than the lips 
 
 For a shelter for the night, 
 And he turned and looked at the road afar 
 
 Without a window light. 
 
 The bridegroom came forth into the porch 
 
 With ' Let us look at the sky, 
 And question what of the night to be, 
 
 Stranger, you and L' 
 The woodbine leaves littered the yard, 
 
 The woodbine berries were blue, 
 Autumn, yes, winter was in the wind; 
 
 ' Stranger, I wish I knew.' 
 
 Within, the bride in the dusk alone 
 Bent over the open fire, 
 
 15 
 
16 A BOY'S WILL 
 
 Her face rose-red with the glowing coal 
 And the thought of the heart's desire. 
 
 The bridegroom looked at the weary road, 
 
 Yet saw but her within, 
 And wished her heart in a case of gold 
 
 And pinned with a silver pin. 
 
 The bridegroom thought it little to give 
 
 A dole of bread, a purse, 
 A heartfelt prayer for the poor of God, 
 
 Or for the rich a curse ; 
 
 But whether or not a man was asked 
 
 To mar the love of two 
 By harboring woe in the bridal house, 
 
 The bridegroom wished he knew. 
 
A LATE WALK 
 
 When I go up through the mowing field, 
 
 The headless aftermath, 
 Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew, 
 
 Half closes the garden path. 
 
 And when I come to the garden ground, 
 
 The whir of sober birds 
 Up from the tangle of withered weeds 
 
 Is sadder than any words. 
 
 A tree beside the wall stands bare, 
 
 But a leaf that lingered brown, 
 Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought, 
 
 Comes softly rattling down. 
 
 I end not far from my going forth 
 
 By picking the faded blue 
 Of the last remaining aster flower 
 
 To carry again to you. 
 
 17 
 
STARS 
 
 How countlessly they congregate 
 O'er our tumultuous snow, 
 
 Which flows in shapes as tall as trees 
 When wintry winds do blow ! — 
 
 As if with keenness for our fate, 
 Our faltering few steps on 
 
 To white rest, and a place of rest 
 Invisible at dawn, — 
 
 And yet with neither love nor hate, 
 Those stars like some snow-white 
 
 Minerva's snow-white marble eyes 
 Without the gift of sight 
 
 18 
 
STORM FEAR 
 
 When the wind works against us in the dark, 
 
 And pelts with snow 
 
 The lower chamber window on the east, 
 
 And whispers with a sort of stifled bark, 
 
 The beast, 
 
 1 Come out ! Come out ! ' — 
 
 It costs no inward struggle not to go, 
 
 Ah, no ! 
 
 I count our strength, 
 
 Two and a child, 
 
 Those of us not asleep subdued to mark 
 
 How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length, — 
 
 How drifts are piled, 
 
 Dooryard and road ungraded, 
 
 Till even the comforting barn grows far away 
 
 And my heart owns a doubt 
 
 Whether 'tis in us to arise with day 
 
 And save ourselves unaided. 
 
 19 
 
WIND AND WINDOW FLOWER 
 
 Lovers, forget your love, 
 And list to the love of these, 
 
 She a window flower, 
 And he a winter breeze. 
 
 When the frosty window veil 
 Was melted down at noon, 
 
 And the caged yellow bird 
 Hung over her in tune, 
 
 He marked her through the pane, 
 He could not help but mark, 
 
 And only passed her by, 
 To come again at dark. 
 
 He was a winter wind, 
 
 Concerned with ice and snow, 
 
 Dead weeds and unmated birds, 
 And little of love could know. 
 
 20 
 
WIND AND WINDOW FLOWER 21 
 
 But he sighed upon the sill, 
 
 He gave the sash a shake, 
 As witness all within 
 
 Who lay that night awake. 
 
 Perchance he half prevailed 
 
 To win her for the flight 
 From the firelit looking-glass 
 
 And warm stove-window light. 
 
 But the flower leaned aside 
 And thought of naught to say, 
 
 And morning found the breeze 
 A hundred miles away. 
 
JO THE THAWING WIND 
 
 Come with rain, O loud Southwester! 
 Bring the singer, bring the nester; 
 Give the buried flower a dream; 
 Make the settled snow-bank steam ; 
 Find the brown beneath the white; 
 But whate'er you do to-night, 
 Bathe my window, make it flow, 
 Melt it as the ices go; 
 Melt the glass and leave the sticks 
 Like a hermit's crucifix ; 
 Burst into my narrow stall; 
 Swing the picture on the wall; 
 Run the rattling pages o'er ; 
 Scatter poems on the floor ; 
 Turn the poet out of door. 
 
 22 
 
A PRAYER IN SPRING 
 
 Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day; 
 And give us not to think so far away 
 As the uncertain harvest; keep us here 
 All simply in the springing of the year. 
 
 Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white, 
 Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night; 
 And make us happy in the happy bees, 
 The swarm dilating round the perfect trees. 
 
 And make us happy in the darting bird 
 That suddenly above the bees is heard. 
 The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill, 
 And off a blossom in mid air stands still. 
 
 For this is love and nothing else is love, 
 The which it is reserved for God above 
 To sanctify to what far ends He will, 
 But which it only needs that we fulfil. 
 
 23 
 
FLOWER-GATHERING 
 
 I left you in the morning, 
 
 And in the morning glow, 
 
 You walked a way beside me 
 
 To make me sad to go. 
 
 Do you know me in the gloaming, 
 
 Gaunt and dusty grey with roaming? 
 
 Are you dumb because you know me not, 
 
 Or dumb because you know? 
 
 All for me ? And not a question 
 
 For the faded flowers gay 
 
 That could take me from beside you 
 
 For the ages of a day? 
 
 They are yours, and be the measure 
 
 Of their worth for you to treasure, 
 
 The measure of the little while 
 
 That I've been long away. 
 
 24 
 
ROSE POGONIAS 
 
 A saturated meadow, 
 
 Sun-shaped and jewel-small, 
 A circle scarcely wider 
 
 Than the trees around were tall ; 
 Where winds were quite excluded, 
 
 And the air was stifling sweet 
 With the breath of many flowers, — 
 
 A temple of the heat. 
 
 There we bowed us in the burning, 
 
 As the sun's right worship is, 
 To pick where none could miss them 
 
 A thousand orchises; 
 For though the grass was scattered, 
 
 Yet every second spear 
 Seemed tipped with wings of color, 
 
 That tinged the atmosphere. 
 
 We raised a simple prayer 
 
 Before we left the spot, 
 That in the general mowing 
 
 That place might be forgot; 
 
 25 
 
26 A BOY'S WILL 
 
 Or if not all so favoured, 
 Obtain such grace of hours, 
 
 That none should mow the grass there 
 While so confused with flowers. 
 
ASKING FOR ROSES 
 
 A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and 
 
 master, 
 
 With doors that none but the wind ever 
 
 closes, 
 
 Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster; 
 
 It stands in a garden of old-fashioned roses. 
 
 I pass by that way in the gloaming with Mary ; 
 
 1 1 wonder,' I say, ' who the owner of those 
 is. 
 ' Oh, no one you know,' she answers me airy, 
 
 ' But one we must ask if we want any roses.' 
 
 So we must join hands in the dew coming 
 coldly 
 There in the hush of the wood that reposes, 
 And turn and go up to the open door boldly, 
 And knock to the echoes as beggars for 
 roses. 
 
 27 
 
28 A BOY'S WILL 
 
 ' Pray, are you within there, Mistress Who- 
 were-you ? ' 
 'Tis Mary that speaks and our errand dis- 
 closes. 
 ' Pray, are you within there ? Bestir you, be- 
 stir you ! 
 'Tis summer again; there's two come for 
 roses. 
 
 'A word with you, that of the singer recall- 
 ing— 
 Old Herrick: a saying that every maid 
 knows is 
 A flower unplucked is but left to the falling, 
 And nothing is gained by not gathering 
 roses.' 
 
 We do not loosen our hands' intertwining 
 (Not caring so very much what she sup- 
 poses), 
 There when she comes on us mistily shining 
 And grants us by silence the boon of her 
 roses. 
 
WAITING 
 
 AFIELD AT DUSK 
 
 What things for dream there are when 
 
 spectre-like, 
 Moving among tall haycocks lightly piled, 
 I enter alone upon the stubble field, 
 From which the laborers' voices late have died, 
 And in the antiphony of afterglow 
 And rising full moon, sit me down 
 Upon the full moon's side of the first haycock 
 And lose myself amid so many alike. 
 
 I dream upon the opposing lights of the hour, 
 Preventing shadow until the moon prevail ; 
 I dream upon the night-hawks peopling heaven, 
 Each circling each with vague unearthly cry, 
 Or plunging headlong with fierce twang afar; 
 And on the bat's mute antics, who would seem 
 Dimly to have made out my secret place, 
 Only to lose it when he pirouettes, 
 And seek it endlessly with purblind haste ; 
 29 
 
30 A BOY'S WILL 
 
 On the last swallow's sweep; and on the rasp 
 In the abyss of odor and rustle at my back, 
 That, silenced by my advent, finds once more, 
 After an interval, his instrument, 
 And tries once — twice — and thrice if I be 
 
 there ; 
 And on the worn book of old-golden song 
 I brought not here to read, it seems, but hold 
 And freshen in this air of withering sweetness; 
 But on the memory of one absent most, 
 For whom these lines when they shall greet 
 
 her eye. 
 
IN A VALE 
 
 When I was young, we dwelt in a vale 
 
 By a misty fen that rang all night, 
 And thus it was the maidens pale 
 I knew so well, whose garments trail 
 Across the reeds to a window light. 
 
 The fen had every kind of bloom, 
 
 And for every kind there was a face, 
 And a voice that has sounded in my room 
 Across the sill from the outer gloom. 
 Each came singly unto her place, 
 
 But all came every night with the mist ; 
 
 And often they brought so much to say 
 Of things of moment to which, they wist, 
 One so lonely was fain to list, 
 
 That the stars were almost faded away 
 
 Before the last went, heavy with dew, 
 Back to the place from which she came- 
 
 3i 
 
32 A BOY'S WILL 
 
 Where the bird was before it flew, 
 Where the flower was before it grew, 
 
 Where bird and flower were one and the 
 same. 
 
 And thus it is I know so well 
 
 Why the flower has odor, the bird has song. 
 You have only to ask me, and I can tell. 
 No, not vainly there did I dwell, 
 
 Nor vainly listen all the night long. 
 
A DREAM PANG 
 
 I had withdrawn in forest, and my song 
 Was swallowed up in leaves that blew alway; 
 And to the forest edge you came one day 
 (This was my dream) and looked and pon- 
 dered long, 
 
 But did not enter, though the wish was strong : 
 You shook your pensive head as who should 
 say, 
 
 I I dare not — too far in his footsteps stray — 
 He must seek me would he undo the wrong. 
 
 Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all 
 Behind low boughs the trees let down outside; 
 And the sweet pang it cost me not to call 
 And tell you that I saw does still abide. 
 But 'tis not true that thus I dwelt aloof, 
 For the wood wakes, and you are here for 
 proof. 
 
 33 
 
IN NEGLECT 
 
 They leave us so to the way we took, 
 
 As two in whom they were proved mistaken, 
 That we sit sometimes in the wayside nook, 
 With mischievous, vagrant, seraphic look, 
 And try if we cannot feel forsaken. 
 
 34 
 
THE VANTAGE POINT 
 
 If tired of trees I seek again mankind, 
 
 Well I know where to hie me — in the dawn, 
 To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn. 
 
 There amid lolling juniper reclined, 
 
 Myself unseen, I see in white defined 
 
 Far off the homes of men, and farther still, 
 The graves of men on an opposing hill, 
 
 Living or dead, whichever are to mind. 
 
 And if by noon I have too much of these, 
 I have but to turn on my arm, and lo, 
 The sun-burned hillside sets my face aglow, 
 
 My breathing shakes the bluet like a breeze, 
 I smell the earth, I smell the bruised plant, 
 I look into the crater of the ant. 
 
 35 
 
MOWING 
 
 There was never a sound beside the wood but 
 
 one, 
 And that was my long scythe whispering to 
 
 the ground. 
 What was it it whispered? I knew not well 
 
 myself; 
 Perhaps it was something about the heat of 
 
 the sun, 
 Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound — 
 And that was why it whispered and did not 
 
 speak. 
 It was no dream of the gift of idle hours, 
 Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf: 
 Anything more than the truth would have 
 
 seemed too weak 
 To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows, 
 Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers 
 (Pale orchises), and scared a bright green 
 
 snake. 
 The fact is the sweetest dream that labor 
 
 knows. 
 My long scythe whispered and left the hay to 
 
 make. 
 
 36 
 
GOING FOR WATER 
 
 The well was dry beside the door, 
 And so we went with pail and can 
 
 Across the fields behind the house 
 To seek the brook if still it ran; 
 
 Not loth to have excuse to go, 
 Because the autumn eve was fair 
 
 (Though chill), because the fields were ours, 
 And by the brook our woods were there. 
 
 We ran as if to meet the moon 
 
 That slowly dawned behind the trees, 
 
 The barren boughs without the leaves, 
 Without the birds, without the breeze. 
 
 But once within the wood, we paused 
 Like gnomes that hid us from the moon, 
 
 Ready to run to hiding new 
 
 With laughter when she found us soon. 
 
 37 
 
38 A BOY'S WILL 
 
 Each laid on other a staying hand 
 To listen ere we dared to look, 
 
 And in the hush we joined to make 
 
 We heard, we knew we heard the brook. 
 
 A note as from a single place, 
 A slender tinkling fall that made 
 
 Now drops that floated on the pool 
 Like pearls, and now a silver blade. 
 
REVELATION 
 
 We make ourselves a place apart 
 
 Behind light words that tease and flout, 
 
 But oh, the agitated heart 
 
 Till someone find us really out. 
 
 'Tis pity if the case require 
 
 (Or so we say) that in the end 
 We speak the literal to inspire 
 
 The understanding of a friend. 
 
 But so with all, from babes that play 
 
 At hide-and-seek to God afar, 
 So all who hide too well away 
 
 Must speak and tell us where they are. 
 
 39 
 
THE TRIAL BY EXISTENCE 
 
 Even the bravest that are slain 
 
 Shall not dissemble their surprise 
 On waking to find valor reign, 
 
 Even as on earth, in paradise ; 
 And where they sought without the sword 
 
 Wide fields of asphodel fore'er, 
 [To find that the utmost reward 
 
 Of daring should be still to dare. 
 
 The light of heaven falls whole and white 
 
 And is not shattered into dyes, 
 The light for ever is morning light ; 
 
 The hills are verdured pasture-wise; 
 The angel hosts with freshness go, 
 
 And seek with laughter what to brave ;- 
 And binding all is the hushed snow 
 
 Of the far-distant breaking wave. 
 
 And from a cliff-top is proclaimed 
 The gathering of the souls for birth, 
 40 
 
THE TRIAL BY EXISTENCE 41 
 
 The trial by existence named, 
 
 The obscuration upon earth. 
 And the slant spirits trooping by 
 
 In streams and cross- and counter-streams 
 Can but give ear to that sweet cry 
 
 For its suggestion of what dreams ! 
 
 And the more loitering are turned 
 
 To view once more the sacrifice 
 Of those who for some good discerned 
 
 Will gladly give up paradise. 
 And a white shimmering concourse rolls 
 
 Toward the throne to witness there 
 The speeding of devoted souls 
 
 Which God makes his especial care. 
 
 And none are taken but who will, 
 
 Having first heard the life read out 
 That opens earthward, good and ill, 
 
 Beyond the shadow of a doubt; 
 And very beautifully God limns, 
 
 And tenderly, life's little dream, 
 But naught extenuates or dims, 
 
 Setting the thing that is supreme. 
 
42 A BOY'S WILL 
 
 Nor is there wanting in the press 
 
 Some spirit to stand simply forth, 
 Heroic in its nakedness, 
 
 Against the uttermost of earth. 
 The tale of earth's unhonored things 
 
 Sounds nobler there than 'neath the sun; 
 And the mind whirls and the heart sings, 
 
 And a shout greets the daring one. 
 
 But always God speaks at the end : 
 
 ' One thought in agony of strife 
 The bravest would have by for friend, 
 
 The memory that he chose the life; 
 But the pure fate to which you go 
 
 Admits no memory of choice, 
 Or the woe were not earthly woe 
 
 To which you give the assenting voice.' 
 
 And so the choice must be again, 
 
 But the last choice is still the same; 
 And the awe passes wonder then, 
 
 And a hush falls for all acclaim. 
 And God has taken a flower of gold 
 
 And broken it, and used therefrom 
 The mystic link to bind and hold 
 
 Spirit to matter till death come. 
 
THE TRIAL BY EXISTENCE 43 
 
 'Tis of the essence of life here, 
 
 Though we choose greatly, still to lack 
 The lasting memory at all clear, 
 
 That life has for us on the wrack 
 Nothing but what we somehow chose ; 
 
 Thus are we wholly stripped of pride 
 In the pain that has but one close, 
 
 Bearing it crushed and mystified. 
 
IN EQUAL SACRIFICE 
 
 Thus of old the Douglas did : 
 
 He left his land as he was bid 
 
 With the royal heart of Robert the Bruce 
 
 In a golden case with a golden lid, 
 
 To carry the same to the Holy Land ; 
 By which we see and understand 
 That that was the place to carry a heart 
 At loyalty and love's command, 
 
 And that was the case to carry it in. 
 The Douglas had not far to win 
 Before he came to the land of Spain, 
 Where long a holy war had been 
 
 Against the too-victorious Moor; 
 And there his courage could not endure 
 Not to strike a blow for God 
 Before he made his errand sure. 
 
 i 44 
 
IN EQUAL SACRIFICE 45 
 
 And ever it was intended so, 
 
 That a man for God should strike a blow, 
 
 No matter the heart he has in charge 
 
 For the Holy Land where hearts should go. 
 
 But when in battle the foe were met, 
 The Douglas found him sore beset, 
 With only strength of the fighting arm 
 For one more battle passage yet — 
 
 And that as vain to save the day 
 As bring his body safe away — 
 Only a signal deed to do 
 And a last sounding word to say. 
 
 The heart he wore in a golden chain 
 He swung and flung forth into the plain, 
 And followed it crying ' Heart or death 1 ' 
 And fighting over it perished fain. 
 
 So may another do of right, 
 Give a heart to the hopeless fight, 
 The more of right the more he loves; 
 So may another redouble might 
 
46 A BOY'S WILL 
 
 For a few swift gleams of the angry brand, 
 
 Scorning greatly not to demand 
 
 In equal sacrifice with his 
 
 The heart he bore to the Holy Land. 
 
THE TUFT OF FLOWERS 
 
 I went to turn the grass once after one 
 Who mowed it in the dew before the sun. 
 
 The dew was gone that made his blade so keen 
 Before I came to view the levelled scene. 
 
 I looked for him behind an isle of trees; 
 I listened for his whetstone on the breeze. 
 
 But he had gone his way, the grass all mown, 
 And I must be, as he had been, — alone, 
 
 1 As all must be,' I said within my heart, 
 ' Whether they work together or apart.' 
 
 But as I said it, swift there passed me by 
 On noiseless wing a 'wildered butterfly, 
 
 Seeking with memories grown dim o'er night 
 Some resting flower of yesterday's delight. 
 
 47 
 
48 A BOY'S WILL 
 
 And once I marked his flight go round and 
 
 round, 
 As where some flower lay withering on the 
 
 ground. 
 
 And then he flew as far as eye could see, 
 And then on tremulous wing came back to me. 
 
 I thought of questions that have no reply, 
 And would have turned to toss the grass to dry ; 
 
 But he turned first, and led my eye to look 
 At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook, 
 
 A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had 
 
 spared 
 Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared. 
 
 I left my place to know them by their name, 
 Finding them butterfly weed when I came. 
 
 The mower in the dew had loved them thus, 
 By leaving them to flourish, not for us, 
 
 Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him. 
 But from sheer morning gladness at the brim. 
 
THE TUFT OF FLOWERS 49 
 
 The butterfly and I had lit upon, 
 Nevertheless, a message from the dawn, 
 
 That made me hear the wakening birds 
 
 around, 
 And hear his long scythe whispering to the 
 
 ground, 
 
 And feel a spirit kindred to my own; 
 
 So that henceforth I worked no more alone; 
 
 But glad with him, I worked as with his aid, 
 And weary, sought at noon with him the shade ; 
 
 And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly 
 
 speech 
 With one whose thought I had not hoped to 
 
 reach. 
 
 * Men work together/ I told him from the 
 
 heart, 
 1 Whether they work together or apart.' 
 
SPOILS OF THE DEAD 
 
 Two fairies it was 
 On a still summer day 
 
 Came forth in the woods 
 With the flowers to play. 
 
 The flowers they plucked 
 They cast on the ground 
 
 For others, and those 
 
 For still others they found. 
 
 Flower-guided it was 
 
 That they came as they ran 
 On something that lay 
 
 In the shape of a man. 
 
 The snow must have made 
 
 The feathery bed 
 When this one fell 
 
 On the sleep of the dead. 
 50 
 
SPOILS OF THE DEAD 51 
 
 But the snow was gone 
 
 A long time ago, 
 And the body he wore 
 
 Nigh gone with the snow. 
 
 The fairies drew near 
 
 And keenly espied 
 A ring on his hand 
 
 And a chain at his side. 
 
 They knelt in the leaves 
 
 And eerily played 
 With the glittering things, 
 
 And were not afraid. 
 
 And when they went home 
 
 To hide in their burrow, 
 They took them along 
 
 To play with to-morrow. 
 
 When you came on death, 
 
 Did you not come flower-guided 
 
 Like the elves in the wood? 
 I remember that I did. 
 
 But I recognised death 
 
 With sorrow and dread, 
 And I hated and hate 
 
 The spoils of the dead. 
 
PAN WITH US 
 
 Pan came out of the woods one day, — 
 His skin and his hair and his eyes were gray, 
 The gray of the moss of walls were they, — 
 And stood in the sun and looked his fill 
 At wooded valley and wooded hill. 
 
 He stood in the zephyr, pipes in hand, 
 On a height of naked pasture land ; 
 In all the country he did command 
 
 He saw no smoke and he saw no roof. 
 
 That was well ! and he stamped a hoof. 
 
 His heart knew peace, for none came here 
 To this lean feeding save once a year 
 Someone to salt the half-wild steer, 
 
 Or homespun children with clicking pails 
 Who see so little they tell no tales. 
 
 He tossed his pipes, too hard to teach 
 
 A new-world song, far out of reach, 
 
 For a sylvan sign that the blue jay's screech 
 
 52 
 
PAN WITH US 53 
 
 And the whimper of hawks beside the sun 
 Were music enough for him, for one. 
 
 Times were changed from what they were : 
 Such pipes kept less of power to stir 
 The fruited bough of the juniper 
 
 And the fragile bluets clustered there 
 Than the merest aimless breath of air. 
 
 They were pipes of pagan mirth, 
 
 And the world had found new terms of worth. 
 
 He laid him down on the sun-burned earth 
 And ravelled a flower and looked away — 
 Play ? Play ? — What should he play ? 
 
THE DEMIURGE'S LAUGH 
 
 It was far in the sameness of the wood; 
 
 I was running with joy on the Demon's trail, 
 Though I knew what I hunted was no true god. 
 
 It was just as the light was beginning to fail 
 That I suddenly heard — all I needed to hear: 
 It has lasted me many and many a year. 
 
 The sound was behind me instead of before, 
 A sleepy sound, but mocking half, 
 
 As of one who utterly couldn't care. 
 
 The Demon arose from his wallow to laugh, 
 
 Brushing the dirt from his eye as he went ; 
 
 And well I knew what the Demon meant. 
 
 I shall not forget how his laugh rang out. 
 
 I felt as a fool to have been so caught, 
 And checked my steps to make pretence 
 
 It was something among the leaves I sought 
 (Though doubtful whether he stayed to see). 
 Thereafter I sat me against a tree. 
 54 
 
NOW CLOSE THE WINDOWS 
 
 Now close the windows and hush all the fields; 
 
 If the trees must, let them silently toss; 
 No bird is singing now, and if there is, 
 
 Be it my loss. 
 
 It will be long ere the marshes resume, 
 It will be long ere the earliest bird : 
 
 So close the windows and not hear the wind, 
 But see all wind-stirred. 
 
 55 
 
A LINE-STORM SONG 
 
 The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, 
 
 The road is forlorn all day, 
 Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, 
 
 And the hoof-prints vanish away. 
 The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, 
 
 Expend their bloom in vain. 
 Come over the hills and far with me, 
 
 And be my love in the rain. 
 
 The birds have less to say for themselves 
 
 In the wood-world's torn despair 
 Than now these numberless years the elves, 
 
 Although they are no less there: 
 All song of the woods is crushed like some 
 
 Wild, easily shattered rose. 
 Come, be my love in the wet woods; come, 
 
 Where the boughs rain when it blows. 
 
 There is the gale to urge behind 
 And bruit our singing down, 
 56 
 
A LINE-STORM SONG 57 
 
 And the shallow waters aflutter with wind 
 From which to gather your gown. 
 
 What matter if we go clear to the west, 
 And come not through dry-shod? 
 
 For wilding brooch shall wet your breast 
 The rain-fresh goldenrod. 
 
 Oh, never this whelming east wind swells 
 
 But it seems like the sea's return 
 To the ancient lands where it left the shells 
 
 Before the age of the fern; 
 And it seems like the time when after doubt 
 
 Our love came back amain. 
 Oh, come forth into the storm and rout 
 
 And be my love in the rain. 
 
OCTOBER 
 
 O hushed October morning mild, 
 Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; 
 To-morrow's wind, if it be wild, 
 Should waste them all. 
 The crows above the forest call ; 
 To-morrow they may form and go. 
 O hushed October morning mild, 
 Begin the hours of this day slow, 
 Make the day seem to us less brief. 
 Hearts not averse to being beguiled, 
 Beguile us in the way you know; 
 Release one leaf at break of day; 
 At noon release another leaf; 
 One from our trees, one far away; 
 Retard the sun with gentle mist; 
 Enchant the land with amethyst. 
 Slow, slow! 
 
 For the grapes' sake, if they were all, 
 Whose leaves already are burnt with frost, 
 Whose clustered fruit must else be lost — 
 For the grapes' sake along the wall. 
 58 
 
MY BUTTERFLY 
 
 Thine emulous fond flowers are dead, too, 
 
 And the daft sun-assaulter, he 
 
 That frighted thee so oft, is fled or dead: 
 
 Save only me 
 
 (Nor is it sad to thee!) 
 
 Save only me 
 
 There is none left to mourn thee in the fields. 
 
 The gray grass is not dappled with the snow; 
 
 Its two banks have not shut upon the river; 
 
 But it is long ago — 
 
 It seems forever — 
 
 Since first I saw thee glance, 
 
 With all the dazzling other ones, 
 
 In airy dalliance, 
 
 Precipitate in love, 
 
 Tossed, tangled, whirled and whirled above, 
 
 Like a limp rose-wreath in a fairy dance. 
 
 59 
 
60 A BOY'S WILL 
 
 When that was, the soft mist 
 
 Of my regret hung not on all the land, 
 
 And I was glad for thee, 
 
 And glad for me, I wist. 
 
 Thou didst not know, who tottered, wander- 
 ing on high, 
 
 That fate had made thee for the pleasure of the 
 wind, 
 
 With those great careless wings, 
 
 Nor yet did I. 
 
 And there were other things: 
 
 It seemed God let thee flutter from his gentle 
 
 clasp : 
 Then fearful he had let thee win 
 Too far beyond him to be gathered in, 
 Snatched thee, o'er eager, with ungentle grasp. 
 
 Ah ! I remember me 
 
 How once conspiracy was rife 
 
 Against my life — 
 
 The languor of it and the dreaming fond ; 
 
 Surging, the grasses dizzied me of thought, 
 
 The breeze three odors brought, 
 
 And a gem-flower waved in a wand ! 
 
MY BUTTERFLY 61 
 
 Then when I was distraught 
 
 And could not speak, 
 
 Sidelong, full on my cheek, 
 
 What should that reckless zephyr fling 
 
 But the wild touch of thy dye-dusty wing I 
 
 I found that wing broken to-day ! 
 For thou art dead, I said, 
 And the strange birds say, 
 I found it with the withered leaves 
 Under the eaves. 
 
RELUCTANCE 
 
 Out through the fields and the woods 
 And over the walls I have wended; 
 
 I have climbed the hills of view 
 
 And looked at the world, and descended; 
 
 I have come by the highway home, 
 And lo, it is ended. 
 
 The leaves are all dead on the ground, 
 Save those that the oak is keeping 
 
 To ravel them one by one 
 
 And let them go scraping and creeping 
 
 Out over the crusted snow, 
 When others are sleeping. 
 
 And the dead leaves lie huddled and still, 
 No longer blown hither and thither; 
 
 The last lone aster is gone; 
 
 The flowers of the wich-hazel wither ; 
 
 The heart is still aching to seek:, 
 But the feet question 'Whither?' 
 62 
 
RELUCTANCE 63 
 
 Ah, when to the heart of man 
 Was it ever less than a treason 
 
 To go with the drift of things, 
 To yield with a grace to reason, 
 
 And bow and accept the end 
 Of a love or a season? 
 
Certain of these poems are reprinted by courteous 
 permission from : — The Forum, The Independent, The 
 Companion. 
 
. 
 
 
 4 o. 
 
 
 « & o ° " • , 
 
 
; 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 •3- ^ 
 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 .9 > 
 
 
 j 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 DECT 5 
 
 
 
 
 
 *> 
 
 
 
 
 ^OUNOT* 
 
 
 »■