y\ flass Tfi ?> g 1 /S Book_Jill2J^ GpRyriglitK? iq )ft COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT: POEMS By JAMES GRISWOLD POEMS By JAMES GRISWOLD II With a Foreword By PERCEVAL M. BARKER NEW YORK THE SCRIBNER PRESS 1918 Copyright, 1918, by Mary S. Griswold JAN -2 1919 CLA511189 >w0 I Dedicated to JEAN WOLCOTT GRISWOLD and GEORGE JOHN LYNDE GRISWOLD in memory of their Father FOREWORD JAMES GRISWOLD was a poet. He wrote poetry because he felt it and because he had to express his feelings; he wrote for himself and for the love of writing. His ideals were high, they were elusive, and one feels that he was continually searching for them. To me it seems that sometimes he found them in his dreams. Here he lived much and found that spirit of whose sympathy he felt so sure and to whom he addressed so many of his verse. Griswold loved poetry as he loved all things beauti^ fill. Beauty exhilarated him as nothing else could; nothing but ugliness would really depress him. He had the heart of a true poet; you felt it in his nature, his life showed it. The most of these poems were written in the years just prior to a long, serious ill- ness, in the early part of 1915. During vii that time his spirit was imbued with poetry and he was much absorbed in his verse. His absorption in all things that he found worth doing was great, and so his work was good, his poetry was good, he was a good surgeon, a good sportsman, and, finally, he died a good soldier. I have just been reading over these verse, and they recall to my mind many things about Griswold of which I would write, but here, in a foreword, it is of James Griswold, the poet and dreamer, I shall speak. As a poet and dreamer he was most lovable to me, and with these attri- butes his rare individuality most clearly shone. Griswold was earnest and cheer- ful, he had a wonderful humor, his quiet laugh twinkled, as did his eyes ; yet behind that laughter was a depth of feeling, some- times even a sadness. He was filled with human kindness and his understanding toward those less fortunate was wonder- fill: he would be roused to great indig- nation over an injustice. He was loyalty itself and thus made many friends, yet was viii the most reserved of men. His indiffer- ence to those not worth while was abso- lute. He lived with a joyous intensity, but the length or shortness of life to him meant nothing. Of his love of freedom, of birds, of trees, of flowers, his roving spirit, his love of the sea and his desire to lie near it in his last resting-place — as he now does — you will read; and in the reading you will feel his dreams, and they are the message of his soul. He has left his dreams here to us whom he has left behind. Griswold had much of the Greek in his nature and much of the precieux; poesy was to him a delight, but he was patient and painstaking: he would write and re- write, and was seldom, if ever, quite satis- fied with his work. He would jot down in an ever-ready note-book, at any time or place, his thought, then, later, perhaps way into the night, give hours of hard, untir- ing effort to frame those words into the thought-picture he wished to paint. This is not a critical review. Let him who reads find what value there is for him ix in this little collection of poems, which were not written for publication. This is a meagre expression of the hope of one who loved the Man — that many will know and understand the Poet. PERCEVAL M. BARKER. CAMP WHEELER, GEORGIA, June 11, 1918. CONTENTS PAGE Foreword by Perceval M. Barker ... vii My Wage'Bound Body 1 The Vagrant 2 Sonnet 6 "Ah Love, we know so little, you and I" Social Evolution 7 May Song 9 Hark, Ye Ladies! 12 CuiBono! 14 Vows 16 Song 18 The Way 20 Sonnet XXVI 24 "I love to gaze deep down in her dear eyes" The Fairies 25 Life 27 Autumn 29 The Dancer 31 xi PAOE Sonnet XXXI 33 "Why is it, Dear, that now apart from thee" A Requiem 34 May 36 The Song of Lilith 38 Hark, It Is Calling 46 Found at Last 49 To a Dryad . 51 The Question . 56 Why Do I Laugh? 61 The Exile. A Valentine 63 Sentiment versus Science. Sonnet XV . 65 (To a deformed imbecile) An Harlot's Welcome 66 The Mummers 68 Sonnet XXXII 71 "We show our smiling faces, we who know" The Seasons 72 To a Statuette 74 The Trespasser 77 Sonnet XXXIII 78 "What do I love? Thou, my beloved, best" xii PAGE Corydon and Amaryllis 79 The eavesdropper My Lady 81 The Neglected Shepherd 82 Her Voice 84 Her Face 85 The Ships. "To Jean " .... 86 The Lover's Alphabet 87 Tout Passe 88 Serenade 89 Her Lips Are Like the Newborn Rose . 91 Heart's Desire 92 Spring Song 94 Recessional 95 Weep Not For Me 98 Xlll POEMS MY WAGEJBOUND BODY My wage-bound body toils all day; My astral body far away At sea, or in some palm-tree's shade, Fights valiantly, or woos a maid. And yet each night, from land or sea, My astral half returns to me Splendent with stories which redeem Its vagabondage — then I dream. THE VAGRANT I wake ere the dawn has brightened Or when the sun is high. I tramp all day or loaf and play Till the stars are in the sky. There are none to say "Come hither," Though many may say "Away." I'm as free as the hovering butterfly That lives, like me — for a day. Yes, lives, like me — in the present. Will there be another morn Sweet as the one that has passed away, Sweet as the rose unborn? Will another butterfly hover Over the scented spray Of iris, rose, or marigold, Hover and live for a day? The clover is soft — I am weary. Shall I lie down to rest? Sweet is the scent of the dying rose Petals upon my breast. Sweet and faint as the lingering sigh When tired eyelids close; And a weary heart finds peace at last On the breast of one who knows. Shall I who love but to wander Awake with another day? Will the dawn dew gleam like diamonds The fairies throw away? Will a sparrow chirp in the coppice Until a jay responds And we welcome the sun together — A trio of vagabonds ? Must I worry about the future, I who have felt the sting, The scorn, the hate of all mankind Without once murmuring? Shall I worry about the morrow? Each night I leave behind A rose and a dying butterfly, Each morn some new I find. Do I differ from all about me, Am I some strange dream child, Born to wander 'twixt heaven andlhell Till Fate is reconciled? Have I known the joy of freedom, The sight, the touch, the smell Of a world that teems with beauty To end at last in hell? God knows! He made me a vagrant. Think what Fve felt and seen — Not of the chances Fve cast away, Not what I might have been. Think of the dreams that I have had, Think of my bed of hay, And think of the hovering butterfly That lives, like me, for a day. SONNET Ah Love, we know so little, you and L Some few short years of mingling joy and pain And fierce endeavour. Then — doth aught remain Beyond the lengthening shadows and good- bye? I know not, Sweet. The love light in your eye, The beauty of the sunset after rain May be His promise that we shall retain Our Love, though all about us seem to die. And when this life is ended, and we slip Out from its glare into abysmal night, Undaunted, unattended, like some ship That leaves her anchorage ere the - dawn's first light: Who knows to what new love beyond the stars Our love may lead us? — What new Avatars? SOCIAL EVOLUTION In the neolithic ages, When I roamed the woods and plain, Hairy, matted, scored by brambles, Low of brow and small of brain. Then the females, though prognathic, Seemed as winsome in my sight As you now appear, dear lady, Dancing in the rosy light. Then I roared and squealed my longings In a symphony of squeaks, Romping through the lonely thickets For the prey man always seeks. Till I spied — and, chasing swiftly, Seized her hair and threw her prone; And I won her love and homage With a hatchet made of stone. Now, amid the glint and glamour Of a higher plane of life, I converse, and dance, and flatter While my thoughts review the strife Of those prehistoric conquests. But, grown wiser, if less bold, IVe exchanged my old stone hatchet For a new one, made of gold. 8 MAY SONG I have heard you singing, Singing at the dawning, Singing in the twilight, Soft and sweet and low. Often have I searched for you, Longing, ever longing, Hoping still to find you, Wondering where to go. I have heard you singing, Singing in the meadows, Where the iris, blossoming, Spreads an azure sea. Often have I searched for you There; and where the willows, Weeping o'er the silent stream, Whisper tales to me. I have heard you singing, Singing in the forest, Chanting in the tree tops, "Find me, if you can? " Often have I searched for you There, amid the shadows, Following your fairy voice That mocked me as it ran: "April days are gone, dear, See the flowers that lay Sleeping 'neath the winter's snow, Welcoming the day. All the daffodils are here; And the hawthorn spray Blossoms like a fairy dream — 'Tis merry, merry May!" 10 "Catch me, if you can, dear; Follow while I play; Hide and seek within your heart Through the livelong day. Love is in the wild wood; Care has flown away. Listen, while I sing to you — 'Tis merry, merry May!" I have heard you singing, Singing at the dawning, Singing in the twilight Soft and sweet and low. Often have I searched for you, Wondering, ever wondering, If at last I found you, You would answer, No. May 1st, 1914. 11 HARK, YE LADIES ! Hark, ye ladies fair and fine, In word and action excellent- How frequently your thoughts incline Toward love — and secretly assent 1 Let naught defer this good intent. So, lest perchance some cause detain, Free be thy love and thy consent While fleeting years of youth remain. And you, sweet maidens, who repine, Blinding your glances innocent With cadences almost divine And thoughtless argument. Not in this wise should life be spent. So, lest ye fail its sweets to gain, Free be thy love and thy consent While fleeting years of youth remain. 12 For all too soon will charms decline, Like roses of their petals rent, Devoid of perfume, beauty, line, Leaving ye old and impotent. Naught then remains but vain lament. So, lest ye blaspheme and complain, Free be thy love and thy consent While fleeting years of youth remain. ENVOI Ladies, whate'er be my intent, Hark to this lay and wisdom gain; Free be thy love and thy consent While fleeting years of youth remain. 13 CUI BONO ! It is not long, the little span of years God grants to each of us — youth, man- hood, age. Scarce long enough to taste its smiles and tears Ere He writes "Finis," and turns down the page. Scarce long enough for youth. Ah, roseate dreams That flame like mist-dispelling summer sun, Thy very gorgeousness rank mockery seems To those who know how swift thy course is run. 14 Scarce long enough for manhood. What avail Ambition, knowledge, strength— they, like the day, Wane, ere the task is finished, and we hail The still approaching evening, cold and grey. It is not long, the little span of years God grants to each; but should approach- ing age Rob me of all its smiles, when life is tears, Let Him write "Finis," and turn down the page. 15 vows Do you remember, dear One, how I swore That through all time your sweet face would I see As plainly as we saw, from off the shore, The fishing fleets of high-cliffed Normandy? Dear Heart, the mists of time have dimmed the best Of all my memories ; yet I faintly see Your face — like laggard boats far in the West At evening off the coast of Normandy. And you, fair maid, to whom I also vowed, Waking or sleeping, that your face would be Ever before me, like the sunlit cloud Across the smiling plains of Picardy. 16 How many years have circled round my head Since our sad parting; yet I faintly see Your face; as through the mist of tears we shed That evening, on the plains of Picardy. Yet I am not forsworn. For I still see Both of you, when I dream of plain or sea. You, whom I swore to love, in Normandy; And you, who heard my vows, in Picardy. 17 SONG Away, you Elves and Fairies And throng about her bed. Restrain your wild vagaries Until the night has fled. Fill all her heart with longing For me and for tomorrow; And store it with fresh love again, Pure love, unmixed with sorrow. Away, you Elves and Fairies, Away and guard her sleep. And evil thoughts inconstant From out her dreamings keep. Fill all her heart with longing For me and for to-morrow; And wake her smiling with the day She'll ne'er recall with sorrow. 18 Away, you Elves and Fairies, And when we two are wed, Hold, if you must, your revels About our marriage bed. Fill all her heart with loving, Nor leave a place for sorrow; Your duty endeth with the night; 1*11 guard it from to-morrow. 19 THE WAY The High Way, the By Way, The meadow and the wood, And my way, the free way, The way IVe understood. Since first I took to roving, With heart and fancy free; And it's calling, ever calling, Is the Way to me. There's no need to hasten, One may rest from morn Till the lengthening shadows Show that day has gone. Roving in the moonlight Sets one's fancy free; And it's calling, ever calling, Is the Way to me. 20 Come and join me, sweetheart; We no tears provoke. All of life before us, Love the only yoke; Dreaming in the starlight Makes me long for thee; Though it's calling, ever calling, Is the Way to me. Youth is but our play hour, Age will take its pay; Why should we look forward; Have not we today? See, the sun is shining Over land and sea; And it's calling, ever calling, Is the Way to me. 21 Springtime with its greenness; Summer with its dust; Autumn with its sere leaves, Through it all I must Rove, and drink the sweetness That in each is free; And it's calling, ever calling, Is the Way to me. Farewell to thee, loved one; Could I settle down To a life of sameness In some stagnant town, Yours would be the face, dear, That could tame the free; But it's calling, ever calling, Is the Way to me. 22 The High Way, the By Way, The Land Way or the Sea, The Near Way, the Far Way, They're all the same to me, Since first I took to roving, With heart and fancy free; And it's calling, ever calling, Is the Way to me. 23 SONNET XXVI I love to gaze deep down in her dear eyes, Cleaving their crystal splendor as a star Cleaves through the velvet darkness — till afar In some unfathomed void it pales and dies* Tender and loving, all that glorifies Her purity and sweetness they unbar To my heart's search; and yet I know there are Depths there that I may never scrutinize. Ah, Love! Can she not see that I would share Each joy, each grief; would strive to understand The all, of which she grants me but a dole. Yet she would strip her tender body bare, And lay her tear-drenched tresses in my hand, Sooner than bare her inmost woman's souL 24 THE FAIRIES Some claim the Fairies have all gone. The woods are silent and forlorn. None dance by moonlight on the lawn. Of Pixies, not an one is left. The moors and hills are all bereft Of Elves, who hid in every cleft. The Brownies, Gnomes, and Little Men, Who lived in tarn, and tree, and fen, We'll never, never see again. Do not believe this thing they say. Our night is but the fairies' day. Now as of old their pranks they play. Now as of old they romp and sing. A cobweb makes a fairy swing; And joy is such a little thing. 25 No, no. The fairies have not fled. You foolishly have been misled, And, seeing not, think they are dead. Believe not half what you are told. The fairies live now as of old, But they have grown far, far less bold. 26 LIFE Life, thou art but a trickster. Sorrow and pain and mirth, The mingling tears and laughter, Where do they lead? The earth, Mother of all, is calling: "Dust, thou art dust, the best Fruits of my womb must each, ere soon, Return to my arms and rest." For of old thou cast a glamour Over the sons of man, Making him fear the darkness Where purpling shadows ran, Making him cry in his fearing: "Life, thou art all. Thou must Save us from Death, the Silence That waits us in the dust." 27 Thou art bright with a wondrous bright- ness, Sweeter than honey sweet, Fair as when first we met thee, Though we toil with weary feet. Though our eyes are dim with weeping, And cold thy darkening face, We pray thee, Life, have mercy And grant us yet thy grace. But I, who have slaved and feasted, Have fasted, laughed, and fought, Can fathom thy futile teachings, Too dearly art thou bought. Thou art winsome, oh, Life, and pleasing; Grant me thy springs* warm breath. But the chill at thy lengthening shadows Will teach me to welcome Death. 28 AUTUMN Autumn, most gorgeous of the seasons, clad Barbarically in scarlet shot with gold, Danced wantonly, as if some hetaira had Returned to us in all her beauty bold. Nor thought of aught beyond the passing hour, The adulations that her flauntings bring, The budding roses — not the fading flower. Danced, till one night chill Winter, creep" ing, clasped All her rich splendor to his hoary breast. And she, like love-mad maid a moment basked In Indian summer's loveliness, caressed, Yielded in glowing passion all her warm Ripe coloring, to win him for her own. Till Winter, tiring, in a sudden storm, Left her bereft, dishevelled, and alone. 29 Now ravished of her riches, all her gay Bright raiment torn and scattered by the breeze, She stretches naked arms as if to pray. Now sobs her anguish through the sighing trees. Gone is her beauty, and with it has fled All that she had to charm — to make her proud. But Winter, penitent at last, will shed Soft tears that hide her 'neath a fleecy shroud. 30 THE DANCER I watched you dancing long ago, Tracing such measures as entwine Tall lilies, swaying to and fro Before some ruined forest shrine; And dear, dead maidens, purged of woe, Danced with you — though you did not know. You danced with them, they danced with you, Weaving fresh fancies from the past; Dream fancies, fragrant as the dew Of meadows, where your feet have passed. Pure, as the unseen spirits, who Came there to dance — unseen — with you. 31 Unheeded was the throbbing strain Of viols, that our pulses thrilled. You heard the moist beat of the rain And Pan's weird piping till it filled Your soul with rhythm — and again You danced to its awakening strain. Ah, dear, dear lady, while you danced So pure, so sweet, so thoughtlessly, Your spirit claimed inheritance From some wild woodland ancestry. Claimed — and through ages of romance Slipped back unconsciously — and danced. 32 SONNET XXXI Why is it, Dear, that now apart from thee, Though I still dream, I dream not as be- fore Those wild, fantastic wanderings that bore My spirit like Odysseus oversea ? No more I hear the sword-song, sharp and free, No more the fretful ocean's sullen roar, No more heart-loose and vagrant do I soar With quaint moon maids in dreaming ecstasy. But now — the faint, sweet tracery of thy face, Soft-tinted as a flower; thy darkening eyes Revealing in their splendour all the grace, The purity, and tenderness that lies In thy dear heart. These fill my dreams, the rare, Exquisite fragrance of thy loosened hair. 33 A REQUIEM Beyond the reach of sorrow, Beyond the reach of pain; Untroubled by to-morrow, By care, or loss, or gain, She sleeps the sleep God gives the blest Who did from sin abstain. No call of mine can waken This sleeper from her rest. Though all my life forsaken By her, I loved the best. Yet will she sleep, Sleep sound and sweet; Thus ends the weary quest. 34 Oh, fond, sad heart, unshaken, 'Mid sorrows that oppressed, By all the world mistaken Who deemed our love unblessed. Sweet be thy sleep, And in thy dreams Forget that we transgressed. Beyond the reach of sorrow, Beyond the reach of pain; Untroubled by to-morrow, By longing sad and vain, She sleeps the sleep God gives the blest Who sinned — but not for gain. 35 MAY April in wanton waywardness Has slipped away, and May In all her virgin loveliness Has blossomed with the day, To greet the waking woods again And teach the world to play. And in her eyes the azure skies Hold court from morn till night, And in her hair a fragrance lies As of some forest sprite, And in her voice the song of birds That carol with delight. 36 Under the wild wood arches green Her dainty hands with care Weave sunlit fancies — and unseen Upon the meadows where Her feet scarce bent the waving grass She dances, light as air. And yet this beauty wondrous May charm us but a space; As laughingly she came to us, So laughing will she race Into the great unknown again, And June will take her place. April 29, 1917. 37 THE SONG OF LILITH The songs of the daughters of Lilith Ring over the land to-day, As they did when she, the first woman, Was tempted and led astray. Then Satan did the singing, And he sang that he might win; But she learned and taught her daughters, And founded the trade of sin. Oldest of all professions, Since first the world began, Both innocent and guilty Have the songs of Lilith sang. Now by a painted hussy Walking the streets at night; Now by a simple maiden Dazzled by first love's might. 38 Fairest of earthly creatures Who can tell why you Should in some subtle manner Awaken the tale anew. How when in Eden's Garden She fled from Adam's side, To dally at love with Satan And preach the precept wide. Then Eve took up the burden, And mothered the race of man; But Lilith dreamed of the future, And dreaming formed this plan. Sang to her winsome daughters, Choicest of HelPs outcast: "Man is your prey forever, From now to the very last. 39 " Brown be your hair or golden, Grey be your eyes or blue, Unto each one, my daughters, A task I leave to do. Hard be your hearts, and harder, Strive but to gain your way. Youth is the season of pleasure, Age is the time to pay. "Work not, neither spin ye, Practice what now I teach; Laugh, though your hearts be breaking, If laughter your goal can reach. Weep, should you find that weeping Will win at last the prize. Every resource I leave you; Your power in cunning lies. 40 "Never a man of woman Was born who can read your heart, But the dullest woman should never Mistake — she knows man from the start. Wind them about your fingers; Enmesh them with your hair; Rouse and play to their fancies, They will not doubt nor care. "Play to inflame their passions: Longing, jealousy, lust. Play to their finer feelings, But yield no more than you must. Keep them forever hoping You'll grant all yet awhile. Let them believe they're winning; And men will come to your smile. 41 "Come, if you do but beckon, Though you crush them beneath your feet. For the fools are won, if you flatter, Nor injure their self-conceit. Never a man so mighty But can by you be led. If you'll study and find his weakness And trust not your heart — but head. "Tempt with your lithesome beauty; Invite with your eyes so bright; Deny with a coy demureness That leads him to think — you might. Never a man so noble But will become your tool, If he looks at himself as the master Though you by your wiles may rule. 42 "Comfort him in his sorrow; Your lips are warm and sweet. Cheer him to-day — tomorrow Demand what you deem most meet. Join with him in the madness That comes with a gladsome heart. Show him how much he needs you; Trick him — it is your part. "Youth is the time for loving, But love not so much the pain Will make you forget that woman Should love where there's most to gain. Some of you will be honoured, Some of you will be vile, But none of you will be honest While there is a man to beguile. 43 "All curse your lowly sister Who plies the trade for gold, But they honour the virtuous matron Who herself to her husband sold. Tricked by a woman's fancy, Cajoled by a woman's smile, Duped by the blush that mantles Your cheek while you scheme the while. "Thus will you play forever The old, old winning game. My heritage through ages Without one thought of shame. Honour, truth, and treason Will count for naught — just play The game with man as I teach it, And none can say you Nay." 44 Brown be her hair, or golden, Grey be her eyes, or blue. Each is a Daughter of Lilith, And the song I sing is true. For she left a taint in woman That makes her love the game; And whether as wife or lighto-love, She'll play it — just the same. 45 HARK, IT IS CALLING Why do we linger 'mid trouble and sorrow? Why do we linger on Life's weary quest? Why do we linger when Nature is calling, The sun in the heaven, the bird on the nest? Hark, they are calling, are calling, are calling : "Come, thou, and sing with us; banish the pain; Taste of the sweetness that lies in each dewdrop; Come and be one with us — children again." 46 Why do we cling to the world with its travail? Why do we cling to the world with its pride? Why do we cling to it? Nature is calling, The wind in the pine-tree, the waves and the tide. Hark, they are calling, are calling, are calling: "Come to the mountains, snow-wreathed in silver, Come and be one with us — come and be free." 47 Why need we think of to-day or to-morrow? Why need we think of the past? it has flown. Why need we think when all Nature is calling The forest resplendent like God on His throne? Hark, it is calling, is calling, is calling: "Come and be with me, oh child of my breast; Drink of the peace that is found in my silence; Come to your Mother, my children, and rest." 48 FOUND AT LAST My heart is as light as the slumbering cloud That dreams o'er the sun-flecked sea. My heart is light, though the days were long Ere I found my way to thee. Found the way, and to-night I'll sleep Pillowed upon a breast, Sweet as the violet in the moss; Washed by the dew of all earthly dross, And dried when a star caressed. My heart is as light as the wakening cloud That floats o'er the whispering sea. My heart is light for the bond is found That links my soul with thee. Found at last, and to-night I'll sleep Pillowed upon a breast, Soft as the down which a mother-bird Plucks from her breast when her love is stirred By thoughts of her building nest. 49 My heart is as light as the laughing cloud That kisses the tossing sea. My heart is light; I have found a love, A love that I share with thee. Found at last, and to-night I'll sleep Pillowed upon a breast, Warm as the first sweet breath that spring Sends as a token of promising, Warm as my love suppressed. 50 TO A DRYAD Naught can dissuade me You're a dryad still, And every murmuring, singing Mountain rill Speaks to you as it used, And sends a thrill Through all your being, And it ever will. For in the silent woods I know you hear The song of fairies, Vibrant, sweet, and clear; Calling and calling: "Come, why should you fear?" Some time you'll answer. Ah, I know you, dear! 51 What to all others may seem But the hum Of drowsy, honeyJaden bees That go and come, Each like to each, You recognise as from Some elfish sprite Insistent as a drum. The night-bird's cry is music, Though you start, For it recalls how When you were a part Of that dear past, At its weird sound you'd dart From cover to some satyr's Throbbing heart. 52 And all the flowers and leaves Both night and day Call to you: "Come, Come, now, and with us play. Forget all, all but love; Join our array, Once more a dryad. Can you answer, Nay?" I know this, Though I cannot tell you why. Unless it is that some eve When the sky Turned all bloodied and saffron, In your eye There came a look of longing And a sigh. 53 What did you long for? Was't that satyr bold Who played his pipes so sweetly That they hold Your spirit now? Who won you once, so cold To all, until his arms Did you enfold? Why did you sigh? Tell me Was't of the past You thought, surfeit with joy? And did it blast The present so by contrast That you cast All off to once regain it, Could it last? 54 We can't turn back the page Of life, that's plain, Though you can be a dryad Once again. Once more can answer When you hear the same Heart calling, So insistent in its pain. If I but thought you'd Answer to me — Nay, If I but thought you'd Let me say my say, I'd be that satyr, And I'd cast away All of this life That I might to you play. 55 THE QUESTION Come, my Love, why keep me waiting? See, the sun has long been gone. And the night is growing shorter, And the dawn Will be on us ere we know it And will find us both forlorn. I am seated by the hayrick Near the stable on the moor; I can see your lighted window And the door Whence youVe always come to meet me. It was never closed before. Is it that your widowed mother Loiters ere she goes to bed? Is it that your country gallant Has not said All his dull, bucolic partings? I could wish the lout were dead. 56 How was it this untaught maiden Could ensnare one of my years? Was it pity conquered reason Or the fears That o'ercame us by the brookside On that evening fraught with tears? Ah! How well can I remember Where I saw her first of all, Coming down the meadow pathway By the wall, Where it dips to cross the shallows Of the brook, below the fall. She was but a country maiden; I had seen her like before, When I painted rural England. And a score Can be found in any village. She was peasant to the core. 57 Yes — but very winsome looked she In the rosy morning light, As she walked the pathway singing; And the sight Of her beauty and her freshness Filled my soul with pure delight. What right had I to pursue her? She was happy 'fore I came, Faustrlike, into her existence; And her Dame Would as soon have doubted Heaven As have thought of her with shame. What possessed me then to woo her? All my senses said: "Depart, Ere you wake her childish passions." But my heart Overruled a life's experience; And 1 could not make the start. 58 Can a man of my position Take her for his wedded wife? Think how all my friends would scorn me, And the life We would lead there in the city: Love for weeks — then months of strife. Think of years and years together, After love had taken flight. How her petty thoughts would gall me Til the sight Of her pretty, foolish features Soon would drive me mad outright. No. Far better that I leave her; It will cause me far less pain; Sharp at first but sooner ended. And the gain To a man with my ambitions Will outweigh her life of shame. 59 Dare I think how she will take it When she finds me — nevermore Waiting for her in the meadow, Where I swore I would wed and love her always, As men oft have vowed before? Dare I think how the spring's beauty Will appear in years to come? Will she think of me with loathing When the sun Sinks beyond the wooded brookside Where by love she was undone? It is hard, but I must do it. How I wish Pd gone before. What is that? Have I been dreaming? Look, the door Opens wide — I see her coming. Shall I keep her evermore? 60 WHY DO I LAUGH? Why do I laugh? Ah, dearest, because my heart is sad. And the world trips by, unheeding, all but the motley^clad Jesters that laugh — so will I laugh, That the world may deem me glad. Why am I sad? Ah, dearest, because my heart's desire Is purer than the songs they sing in God's celestial choir And stronger than the gates of brass that compass Hell's fire. Why do I smile? Ah, dearest, I would that I might weep; But the world cares naught for sorrow and the nights refuse me sleep. So must I smile — a weary smile — And Love's lone vigil keep. 61 Why would I weep? Ah, dearest, Though I care not for Love's sorrow or for the sort of tears; So I laugh, perhaps to-morrow, and may- hap not for years. 62 THE EXILE A Valentine The sky is as blue as your eyes are, dear; The clouds as white as your rounded throat. And a stray bird sings in a tree — so near I can almost touch him, yet each note Is clear and sweet, as should angels sing The wonder and glory of love and spring. How I envy the bird! His heart is free, Free as the clouds in the deep blue sky, While mine is fettered. Ah, Love! maybe, Could I sing, you would answer by and by, Sensing the pain in songs that sing The wonder and glory of love and spring. 63 Let me come to you, dear. And in your eyes, Blue as the sky, will I find my song. Else my soul exiled from Paradise Must mute remain, though the way be long. Let me come to you, dear, that I may sing The wonder and glory of love and spring. February 14, 1916. 64 SENTIMENT VERSUS SCIENCE Sonnet XV. (To a deformed imbecile) Thou slavering one, whose wide, lack-lustre eyes Peer furtively about. Dost think to see Some fearsome being? Thou, prepared to flee Back to thy lair should fancied cause arise. In what Silenian dream did Fate devise That in your mother's womb at its decree Your epiblasts and mesoblasts were free To wander and unite in any wise? Which art thou? Some spoiled casting from the mould In which was formed the forebears of our race; Or art thou but reversion to some old Progenitor, whose strain we should efface. Whiche'er thou art, thou cumberer of earth, Twere better to have strangled thee at birth. November 24, 1915 65 AN HARLOT'S WELCOME Because I dance and laugh and sing; Because, perchance, my eyes grow bright, Think you the sweet, low murmuring That charmed your senses through the night Depicted passion? Your delight Fills me with horror and with scorn* I loathe your bestial appetite, And give God thanks when you have gone. Yet, what am I? Can my tears wring Your hearts in pity at my plight? I, who live but by chambering And by the lewdness I incite. Christ! — and I wish I dare recite All of my hatred and my scorn. But I shall smile on you to-night, And give God thanks when you have gone. 66 Smile for your gold, and for it bring My woman's body, smooth and white, Stripped of its last sheer covering, To wage love's conflicts through the night, God — for a fee, I must requite Each — all of you that I so scorn. An harlot's welcome — smile to-night, And give God thanks when you have gone. 67 THE MUMMERS Life is a play, And I a mummer. You May ask some day: "What good was there to do?" Was it naught to make men smile? And my part was to beguile Those about me for a while; Then to pass away. Each of us must wear a mask When we play life's tragedy. Weary hearts that quiet ask Oft are cast in comedy. So we all don mummery, Play our parts — some well — some ill. Nature, void of charity, Asks us not what role we'd fill. 68 Few of us are let to bask In a glare of luxury. Most are set an humble task Fretted o'er with poverty. So we all don mummery, Play our parts — some great — some small. Happy would the mortal be Who was given no part at all. None of us are given the task We would choose most willingly. Life, therefore, can only ask That we play it cheerfully. So we all don mummery, Play our parts as best we may; And in the grand summary What then matters what we play? 69 Life is a play. And I a mummer — you, Whate'er you say, Are but a mummer, too. So I pray in my behalf No quaint, rhyming epitaph, Just "He left the world a laugh When he passed away." 70 SONNET XXXII We show our smiling faces, we who know What life can give: the bitter and the sweet — The lightsome laughter and the veiled de~ ceit, The love, the faith, that ne'er will faithless grow. We know the world; to it we may not show Nor to ourselves dare we admit defeat. Not yet as mendicants will we entreat The crumbs of pity that the victors throw So, while we drink the wormwood and the gall That fate has portioned to us at Life's feast, We smile, we undefeated; after all, Brave hearts can dance though every viol has ceased. Let us go forth and fight — then, lose or win, Laugh at the jokes of some sad harlequin. Written July 11, 1916 71 THE SEASONS I walk beside her through the dell, Enchanted by the magic spell She weaves about her. And though I think she reads my mind, She helps me not, though always kind; Spring blossoms be about her! I lie and watch, while in the brook She deftly dappers with my hook. The willow's shadows on her; And carelessly displays to sight A foot and ankle dazzling white; The Summer's madness on her! I stand and glower when at the dance The forward gallants steal my chance To be beside her; And half distracted by her charms Imagine her in other arms When Autumn's foliage hides her. 72 I sit behind her at the play And, brooding, watch the revels gay, Nor can I chide her; For when my love to her I'd tell With banter gay she breaks the spell. Oh, Winter's warm beside her! I walk, and lie, and stand, and sit, Yet mute am rendered by her wit And by her laughter; But could I find her once in tears, Twould banish these unmanly fears, And I would ask her. 73 TO A STATUETTE Was it love, inspiring some pagan heart And guiding a hand now naught but dust, That fashioned Thy beauty? Undying art In gold and ivory! Or was it just The master^craft of one who saw A laughing dryad beside some rill, Saw, and copied without a flaw The grace and beauty that charm us still? For you are lovely of form and pose, Supple and lithe. And your golden hair But frames a face where the lips unclose To smile on life with no thought of care. Fresh and pure as the light that steals O'er Hymettus at break of day. Sweet the promise the Spring reveals In the quickened mould of a world's decay. 74 Year after year have I thought of you, Gold and ivory — and nothing more. Year after year has each season new Increased the interest I felt before. And now you come 'mid the dream love wrought, Claiming Her place; and now I see She has your beauty, the grace I sought, And the love and homage I paid to Thee. What you were like. What you must have been When, as a goddess, long years ago, You lived and loved in the forest green, Tell me. Was it my pristine soul Your beauty captured? was it my hand Moulded your semblance? iEons roll Between us, and yet you understand. 75 For your golden locks are flecked with light, Like that I love in my sun-kissed maid. And your ivory body, round and slight, Hers would counterpart, were it displayed. Goddess, Maiden reincarnate, Ivory-tinted with cream and rose, Guest, unbidden— Was it our Fate To kiss and pass as the Zephyr blows? Did I love You once as I love Her now? Was love so sweet when the world was young? Did a fluttering heartbeat stay the vow That had eased our pain? Had our eyes no tongue? Or did we love, lips pressed to lips, Soul-hungry for each other* s breath, Reaching that rare apocalypse Of love that endeth not with death. 76 THE TRESPASSER Cupid, weary, longed to rest, Tried at first the robin's nest. But he left it all unpressed When he spied your tender breast. There in softness he's embowered, And with sweetness so o'erpowered That, though threats on him Pve showered, He is neither moved nor cowered. Nestling there, the naughty boy . Mocks me with his glances coy, And takes a mischievous joy As my peace he doth destroy. And your heart I held in fee Now he keeps from thoughts of me. Cupid, thou art rested — flee Far away and set it free. Still he lingers in your breast, Fears to wander ever — lest Thoughts of me might there transgress Should he leave it tenantless. 77 SONNET XXXIII What do I love? Thou, my beloved, best, And afterward the silence of the night, When aery voices sing for my delight And dew-damp zephyrs woo mine eyes to rest. Earth, purged of earthy drosses that oppressed, Breathes an immortal fragrance; and the beat Of unseen wings, immeasurably sweet, And laughing footsteps on some unknown quest. I love the eventide, when shadows fling Strange goblin shapes, distorted imagery. Then the dead gods awake, and satyrs bring Their reedy pipes — oh, ancient min- strelsy, Thy charm, too sweet, too amorous for the light, Hath taught my soul the loveliness of night. Written December 3, 1916 78 "CORYDON AND AMARYLLIS" THE EAVESDROPPER Once, while strolling in the forest, Quite by chance I happed to see Corydon and Amaryllis Resting 'neath a tree. She was seated on his knee, Truth demands a full confession. This, at least, was my impression. Did I interrupt this wooing, And curtail their hour of joy? No — I waited very patient, Watching girl and boy. And the wiles he did employ, Which, of course, though but bucolic, Seemed to me most diabolic. Corydon would kiss and fondle; Amaryllis would have naught. He insisted none would know it; She, that they'd be caught, Pleasures now were dearly bought. And she argued with such reason That to doubt her seemed like treason. 79 Shall I tell you how he won her, What was done and what was said? What he sang and swore and promised, How he urged and pled? Till she, seemingly misled, Granted, it appeared with pleasure, All Fd heard her vow to treasure. No, the secret's far too precious. Why should I your wisdom swell By recounting my observings? They may serve me well. Only this much will I tell, That in love he was most pressing, Which to me was quite distressing. 80 MY LADY Fair my Lady — all agree, Though they know her not with me. Fair of brow and fair of hair, Yet I say of her — beware. Fair she is of neck and breast, Though they cause my soul unrest. Fair her eyes so blue and bright, Yet they mock while they invite. Fair and slim and round her waist, Though it shirks my arm, misplaced. Fair her lips like blushing rose, Yet her thoughts they ne'er disclose. Fair and small and pink her ear, Though my pleading 'twill not hear. Fair she is in every part, Yet I fear she has no heart. 81 THE NEGLECTED SHEPHERD All day I sit and play my pipe Unto my sheep. The lonely evenings, too, I play, And then, to sleep. While other shepherds dance and swing With lightsome hearts, and rollicking With Daphne, make the welkin ring With laughter and with frolicking, I play my pipe. Sad am I; Sad and dejected; Daphne, why am I neglected? 82 All day I sit and play my pipe. The saddening strain Can win from her no cheering smile To ease my pain. While other shepherds shout and sing With blithesome hearts, and chattering With Daphne, make the welkin ring With wanton gibes and flattering, I play my pipe. Sad am I; Sad and neglected; Daphne, why am I neglected? 83 HER VOICE Tis many years since first we met, And in these years I've listened oft To madrigal and canzonette, And viols breathing low and soft; Yet all seem mingling when she speaks, Like whispering fairy flageolet, In forest fastness playing soft, Weird, elfish strains; some quaint duet With laughing, gurgling rivulet. 84 HER FACE Her face a garden is, where rare, Pure lilies grow to grace her brow. And shy wood violets have a pair Of jewels placed, for eyes, I trow. While daffodils, with loving care, Spin golden tendrils for her hair. The wild arbutus paints her cheek Faint pink like some deep ocean shell, And all the treasures that you seek By meadow, mountain, wood, and dell I find in one dear face — though bleak, Chill winter, elsewhere, havoc wreak. There from the barren world I flee, To gather sweet forget-me-not And heartsease — both I guarantee More fragrant far than bergamot. But when she lends her lips to me, Then roses blossom riotously. 85 THE SHIPS "To Jean " I stood upon the bridge and watched The tall ships going out to sea, And wondered which, if any, might Bring some strange plaything home to me. And many others, too, I saw, But they were coming home from sea. I wondered what they had on board And if they brought something for me. 86 THE LOVER'S ALPHABET Why cannot I write to thee? Every child knows ABC D E F G H I J, And they print them every day. Why it could be done by them, For they all know KLM NOPQRST. They're but letters, as you see. Not a child there is but who Knows its U V W Also X Y and the Z. They're as easy as can be. Yet when I would write, 'tis true, All I think of is the U; And behind each U I try How it looks to place an I. So I cannot write to thee, Although much it grieveth me; For, however much I try, All I get is — U and I. 87 TOUT PASSE Last eve I watched the new-born moon Glide like a silver skiff between Rose-tinted clouds, that all too soon Grew grey in their desire to screen Her virgin beauty from the sight Of the lewd stars which haunt the night. But she will older grow, this moon, Older and wanton. Then I ween Shell scoff the clouds from heaven, and soon At any hour of night be seen. And every star will hide in fright, Whispering, "The Moon is full to-night." 88 SERENADE The listening leaves have fallen asleep; The prying moon has strayed away. Lady, although I sing, you keep Your shutter fast ; and soon the day Will warn me that I must away And end the songs I sing. Open thy casement, Sweet. Let loose The wondrous fragrance of thine hair. Lady, I love you. No abuse Could cause such anguish and despair As does thy window's lonely stare, Its silent echoing. 89 Open thy casement, Sweet. Love cries Faint and lone in thy garden's gloom. Lady, I love you. Ere night dies Come to me, come ; the dawn's perfume Foretells the hour when skies resume Their morning colouring. The listless leaves, The pitying stars have slipped away. Lady, although I sing, you sleep, And answer not; and now the day Has warned me and I must away And end the songs I sing. 90 HER LIPS ARE LIKE THE NEW- BORN ROSE Her lips are like the new-born rose That blushing greets the rising day; Her voice a murmuring stream that flows And laughing bears my heart away; Or would, did I not know that she Has never heart to give to me. Her cheeks are lilies fresh with dew O'er which the vagrant sunbeams play; Her breasts are Cupid's rendezvous Wherein he lures us to betray. Ah, Love! What dreams of paradise Have withered there 'mid snow and ice! Her eyes recall the stars that swing In heaven's gorgeous disarray; Her breath is like the breath of spring When vanquished winter steals away. She is all this, and yet, forsooth — She will not, cannot, tell the truth. 91 HEARTS DESIRE Heart of my heart, I shall find you at last. Maiden of dreams, thou hast whispered to me In the woods, the flowers, the streams, In the moon's soft beams. Calling out from a dim, intangible past That must yield, my own one, at last. For the wind has sang, oh, my Heart's De~ sire, And the murmuring waves have cheered my soul With promises sweet as the burgeoning spring. When the dead leaves fling Themselves to the light, in their new attire, So will I wait you, my Heart's Desire. 92 For you were mine once; then the world was young, And each passionate star hung low to bless Our love, that yet in Avatar Will time's seal unbar; And I claim you again, though the stars give tongue In envy, my love, since the world was young. Written December, 1916 93 SPRING SONG Gray the skies of April, Blue the skies of May; Yet the rains of April Bring the flowers of May. May, with all its splendour Of earth and air and sky; May, with all its splendour That wantons to the eye. Gray the skies of April, Blue the skies of May; Yet the tears of April Bring the smiles of May. Written February 19, 1916 94 RECESSIONAL Bury me when I come to die Where the wet, salt breezes sing, Where the shifting sand-dunes lie, Where the gull on poised wing Hears no answer to his call, Sees but sand and sea and sky. There to dream — apart from all — Bury me when I come to die. I should never feel at rest With my brethren — all a row. Cramped and fettered, on my breast Some vile monument to show Who I was, when born, when died. I, who loved the open best And its silence — well I know I should never feel at rest. 95 Say this much, and say no more When you leave me there to sleep 'Neath the stars who evermore Kiss the lisping waves that creep Upward till they almost claim My still lips — could they restore Speech, my cry would be the same. Say this much, and say no more. He was shifting as the sand, Heedless as the winds that blow, Born blood brother in that band Of the ne'er-do-well who know All of promise, all of pain. Dreaming — ah, you understand He had naught but dreams to show; He was shifting as the sand. 96 Bury me when I come to die Where the wild, salt breezes sing, Where the ocean, hurrying by, Soothes me with its murmuring. I have loved it — loved it all, Wind and sand and sea and sky. There to dream — and wait His call, Bury me when I come to die. Written January, 1915 97 WEEP NOT FOR ME Weep not for me, Dear Heart, when I am dead, For I have drank of laughter and of tears And now am weary, lonely — and I dread Life's barren garden and the changeless years. Weep not for me. The strife is o'er, and won Or lost — who cares, but I who most should care. The fading petals falling one by one Attract more notice than a soul's despair. 98 Weep not for me. I would not let one tear Bedim the glorious brightness of your eye. For I have lived and loved — and do not fear More than your cast-by roses fear to die. Weep not for me, Dear Heart, when I am dead. But should by chance your dreamings back- wards stray Think of me kindly — as a flower that shed Its petals on your breast some yesterday. 99 015 905 686 7