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 THE RIVER OF 
 DREAMS 
 
 By 
 ELISABETH DU PUY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 JAMES T. WHITE & CO. 
 
 1919 
 
f^'^'.lt 
 
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 COPYRIGHTED 1919 BY 
 JAMES T, WHITE a CO 
 
 m -b iyi9 
 
 ©CI.A525388 
 
CONTENTS 
 The River of Dreams — 
 
 RIVER OF dreams 8 
 
 Lyrics — 
 
 CRYSTAL vision 13 
 
 star bright 18 
 
 end of the day i9 
 
 ''ere the DAY BREAK AND SHADOWS FLEE AVVAY" 20 
 
 OLD man's BALLAD OF EVIL FORTUNE 21 
 
 IN THE GARDEN 23 
 
 THE GREEN OF THE YEAR 24 
 
 ROSEMARY 2$ 
 
 SONG FOR THE END OF SUMMER 26 
 
 GRANDMAMA'S SLIPPERS 27 
 
 LOVE AT lack-gold's DOOR 28 
 
 GREAT AUNT ELIZABETH 30 
 
 DAYS OF SONG 31 
 
 CICADA 3a 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 BETWEEN FIRE-LIGHT AND MOON 33 
 
 DAWN 34 
 
 THE PARTING KISS 36 
 
 LUCIA 37 
 
 CRADLE SONG 38 
 
 A PILGRIM OF THE NIGHT 39 
 
 SEA SONG 40 
 
 PARTING SONG 42 
 
 WINDOWS 43 
 
 ROSE AYLMER 44 
 
 THE WHEAT HARVEST MOON 45 
 
 YESTERDAYS 46 
 
 THE SEA-BIRD BARKENTINE 47 
 
 WIND SPRITES 48 
 
 THE STORM SPIRIT 50 
 
 SHADOWS AND DREAMS 55 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 LALAGE 56 
 
 love's passing 57 
 
 evening song 5^ 
 
 old love a-dying 59 
 
 IANTHE's LOVE SONG 60 
 
 THE HOUSE OF HIS FRIENDS 6l 
 
 BREAK 0' DAY 63 
 
 WANDERLUST 64 
 
 SoNGs FOR Magdalen — 
 
 THE MOONLIT WINDOW 67 
 
 BROKEN VOWS 68 
 
 THE FALSE ONE 69 
 
 ROBERT 70 
 
 SERENADE TO CECILE 7I 
 
 NOVEMBER WOODS 72 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 Sonnets — 
 
 the eld said theme 75 
 
 the avalon of heart's desire 76 
 
 the slyvan dance 77 
 
 the three queens of avalon 78 
 
 love's DESERTED DWELLING 79 
 
 SPIRITUELLE 80 
 
 BEGGAR HEART 81 
 
 FOR DOROTHY FARRELL 82 
 
 APRIL 84 
 
 LOVERS 86 
 
 PRAYER 87 
 
 WHITE FLOWERS OF SORROW 88 
 
 MONUMENTS 89 
 
 THE GRIEVED HEART 9° 
 
 MELANCHOLIA 9' 
 
 THE THRUSH-SONG AT DAWN 93 
 
 LAUNCELOT AND GUINEVERE 94 
 
THE RIVER OF DREAMS 
 
RIVER OF DREAMS 
 
 Brightly het<ween thy dusky hanks flow on, 
 
 Sloiu-gliding stream! 
 My shalloiv ivoven of silver birch, compact 
 
 From bo<w to stern. 
 Close-knit and fine and light for voyaging, 
 
 Shall bear me down, 
 Companionless, to (wonderlands unknown. 
 
 Flow on, sweet River, 
 Limpid, mysterious, slow-gilding, flow 
 
 Thou on! 
 
 Somewhere a castle stands upon thy shores. 
 
 Of marble wrought; 
 Its towers rise in azure, and are lit 
 
 With wondrous fire; 
 Whether by suns or lucent star-light shed, 
 
 I know not, for 
 In trance-like dreams only have I seen them. 
 
 Sweet music there 
 Flutes faintly hour by hour, and faces dear — 
 
 Beloved, beautiful, 
 Calm faces of a saintly company. 
 
 Whose souls have passed 
 Death's songless boundaries — from windows glance, 
 
 And angel shapes are seen 
 
Within the floivery courts and porticoes. 
 
 They're lotus-cro'Lvned, 
 dnd seem to ivear immortal haloes round 
 
 Their foreheads and bright hair. 
 
 The sun gloivs red, dim shades of Night are sped; 
 
 The azurean 
 Great arch of Heaven is bright <with glorious fire; 
 
 Broad dusky boughs. 
 Poplar or linden, in no forest where 
 
 Earth's children tread, 
 Groiu such huge trees — majestical as tonuers — 
 
 Stand on the blue. 
 And o'er their tops the Day-star's limpid ball 
 
 Holds high its magic torch — 
 As though some giant desired to light his path. 
 
 Returning from <uiar. 
 
 Glide, O my shallop, gently do*wn the stream, 
 
 Whose currents gleam 
 With diamond glamor from no earth-beholden sun; 
 
 Whose ivaters floiu 
 So musically on between dim shores. 
 
 Where none but Spirits dwell! 
 Glide on, sweet River, softly drift me down 
 
 To God's immortal strand. 
 And that dream-builded castle, all whose stones 
 
Are heavenly — 
 Within ivhose marble pillared porticoes, 
 
 With fadeless roses twined, 
 Linger a hallowed company. 
 
 Beloved of me. 
 Whose feet have crossed the tranquil bounds of Death! 
 
 They're glory-croivned, 
 And nvear immortal haloes round 
 
 Their brows and hair. 
 
 10 
 
LYRICS 
 
CRYSTAL VISION 
 
 THE golden Moon in a primrose sky- 
 Is the mystic lantern that I walk by, 
 Lighting the shadow-leagues of gloom, 
 Lighting my footsteps toward the tomb. 
 
 Shaggy hills and spire-topped trees 
 Tower like Eden boundaries. 
 
 A twilight rover I; my feet 
 Thrid darkening groves near waters sweet, 
 And vistas tranced with evening glory- 
 Mind me of landscapes in a story — 
 Some hoary Medieval tale 
 Of heroism, joy and wail. 
 
 Or, sometimes glades and meadows seem 
 Like elfin landscapes in a dream — 
 The phantasm of nights long bygone. 
 Wherein pale lights like marble shone; 
 A dream of aery peaks and towers. 
 Mansions more blessed than home of ours. 
 
 13 
 
The Minstrel Wind has hushed his flute, 
 But else, the drowsy eve were mute; 
 Dusky linden boughs are stirred 
 With the clear carols of a bird; 
 His song, and now his russet breast 
 Gilded by yon glamouring West, 
 Give me his name; his heart he flings 
 Out on that strain, and cheerly sings — 
 For very, very joy, it may be, 
 And overflowing ecstasy. 
 
 Crystal limpid, dazzling bright. 
 Cleaving deep, dim height and height, 
 Rolls amber Claire, with many a sail 
 Whitening his long-drawn trail; 
 And many a fairy pleasure-boat, 
 Stately like a swan afloat, 
 Glides to the tune of gay guitars 
 Above the tranquil imaged stars. 
 
 I wandered onward — wandered long, 
 
 Till hushed was Redbreast's even-song; 
 
 Till the pellucid sun-wrought gold 
 
 In sky and water was grown cold; 
 
 Till romance visions faded; till 
 
 The World and my own heart grew still. 
 
 14 
 
Then, questioning my soul, I said: — 
 "Where are the spirits of our dead? 
 
 Is Heaven far removed from Earth? 
 Is death indeed the soul's rebirth? 
 
 What lies beyond the close-sealed tomb — 
 A new dawn, brightening death's gloom?" 
 
 I questioned so, and my soul said: — 
 
 "God is the God of quick and dead; 
 
 Whether Heaven is near or far, 
 
 Or where beloved spirits are 
 
 In blessedness, I cannot tell; 
 
 But this I know — with them 'tis well." 
 
 I had a wondrous dream last night, 
 While over me the Moon played white. 
 
 What place that was, I do not know; 
 It seemed like God's Elysium. 
 The light shone softer, richer than 
 Red autumn sunset, or ripe glow 
 Of summer moon, or evening star; 
 A city's domes and towers not far 
 Away, with golden boss and silver fret, 
 Lay dreamlike on deep violet — 
 
 15 
 
The fadeless empyrean; and I 
 Beneath a green elm's close-leaved ply- 
 Was all alone, and seated near 
 A mirror water, broad and clear. 
 
 Alone — not sad, not desolate, 
 
 I seemed in solitude to wait 
 
 A coming happiness. Nor long before 
 
 The tranced air thrilled round peak and shore 
 
 With psalm and hymnal symphony — 
 
 Dream-heard, not earth-made, melody. 
 
 From cloud-crowned companiles, I thought 
 
 The Winds, wild-breathing, hither brought 
 
 Clear carillon of bells, that made 
 
 A jubilant fanfaronade. 
 
 Camillas, roses, the jessamine, 
 
 And white star-flowers of the vine 
 
 That shed a precious incense round. 
 
 As in a deluge of keen sound. 
 
 Trembled; and their nectar disks they turned 
 
 Skyward, as tho' the flower-heart yearned 
 
 For light immortal. In my ears 
 
 Sweet harps and viols sounded, tears 
 
 From my eyes drawing. Whence those strains? 
 
 Whose fingers touched the sacred strings? — 
 
 As when at nightfall a dove plains. 
 
 16 
 
Calling her comrades of the wood, 
 
 That music stirred and stilled; bright wings 
 
 The blue air clove, star-bright shapes stood 
 
 Immobile a long moment's span 
 
 Within the clear cerulean; 
 
 A company, a host, swept by; 
 
 They shone like myriad stars on high — 
 
 And they were spirits, white as flames. 
 
 I knew some of them by their names — 
 Beloved forms and sweet blest faces , 
 Crowding down the blue heaven spaces. 
 
 They passed, like a swift meteor cloud; 
 
 I watched that hovering flashing crowd, 
 
 I watched them, yearning. 
 
 Till Heaven, pure-burning 
 
 With Life's keen light, 
 
 Wrapt them from out my sight. 
 
 Awhile their chorals echoed; then 
 The dulcet air was still again. 
 
 17 
 
STAR BRIGHT 
 "The desire of the moth for the star" 
 
 BRIGHT Star! that over the hill 
 Bows like a young girl at her prayers, 
 Linger awhile, and still 
 
 Light this sweet hour, while only 
 In the whispering pine woods lonely, 
 With me, weird Whippoorwill 
 
 The dusk and the silence shares! 
 
 Bright Eye! shut not so soon! 
 
 Scarcely has paled Day's violet 
 
 Out of the windy skies, nor yet 
 With spectral sweep the silver-sickle Moon 
 
 Gleams the wild rose-light of the sped sunset. 
 
 Dark woods and dim meadows sleep; 
 
 The restless World at last finds rest. 
 
 I, I alone of unquiet breast. 
 All the night long, Sweet, waken and weep. 
 
 O Love, O Star! tho' after you 
 
 A myriad quenchless orbs should rise 
 
 To crowd your heaven of lonely blue, 
 Shorn of the glamour of your eyes, 
 Blind would the midnight be, and black the skies! 
 
 18 
 
END OF THE DAY 
 
 LIGHT fails, and the firefly's lamp 
 Spangles the falling dew; 
 lushed now is the bustling World's tramp-tramp- 
 tramp, 
 Till matin bells ring anew. 
 
 ^'onder's a window clear; 
 
 Here lingers a Carot gloom; 
 i'he hearth glows ruddily there, but near 
 
 Are a chapel and a tomb. 
 
 lilence and the gloaming light 
 
 Haunts me with one white star; 
 .ove, who loved me well, tonight. 
 
 You dwell where memories are! 
 
 Aght fails; the dew lies damp 
 
 As my tears wept over you; 
 ^nd hushed is the bustling World's tramp-tramp- 
 tramp, 
 
 Till matin bells ring anew. 
 
 19 
 
"ERE THE DAY BREAK AND SHADOWS 
 FLEE AWAY" 
 
 ONE last sweet hour, 
 Then bid a long adieu! 
 Now stars grow pale; Dawn opens its blue flower 
 Snatch from the failing darkness, I and you, 
 One last sweet hour. 
 
 Sing one song morel 
 
 Your lips are white; 
 
 Black-hooded Grief knocks softly at our door; 
 
 Still fret, O Love, you faint cithern tonight 
 
 With one song morel 
 
 Give one more kiss, 
 
 Ere we forever part — 
 
 Ere fails for aye Life's mad supremest bliss I 
 
 Press close to mine those trembling lips, Sweetheart 
 
 In one last kiss! 
 
 20 
 
OLD MAN'S BALLAD OF EVIL FORTUNE 
 
 I DRINK tears now who once drank wine; 
 Eat mouldy crusts who lacked not bread; 
 I'm empty when I fain would dine; 
 With Sodom apples am I fed, 
 Like bleachen autumn leaf am shed. 
 Soon stark and dumb ye'll carry me 
 
 From gleam and gloom, from gold and red — 
 Far from the sand-dunes and the sea. 
 
 Ha! splendid visions still are mine, 
 
 Who crooked lie in straightened bed. 
 Sweet eyes into my darkness shine 
 
 And one, long lost, comes from the dead. 
 
 The seas were bleak that whelmed her head; 
 Rerisen now she smiles on me. 
 
 And beckons down a valley dread, 
 Far from the sand-dunes and the sea. 
 
 Now when I'm old and bowed of spine, 
 
 I have for hearth-fire frost instead, 
 And hardly across the darkening brine 
 
 Can I discern the way she sped, 
 
 By minstrel of the Night misled. 
 Away from marriage jubilee, 
 
 From bridal-bed and groom new-wed — 
 Far from the sand-dunes and the sea. 
 
 21 
 
L'Envoy 
 
 Princes, the heart that once has bled 
 Can nevermore unscarred be; 
 
 Nor come again the feet that fled 
 
 Far from the sand-dunes and the sea. 
 
 21 
 
IN THE GARDEN 
 
 COME into the garden, my Sweet; 
 Twin-sister to the Wild Rosel 
 Flower-fair from forhead to feet, 
 Come into the garden, my Sweet, 
 Like Ruth midst the Syrian wheat. 
 
 Gleaning what Love's hand sows! 
 Come into the garden, my Sweet, 
 Twin-sister to the Wild Rosel 
 
 23 
 
THE GREEN OF THE YEAR 
 
 THE hills are all white with dogwood bloom, 
 Dearl 
 Frog orchestras drone their bassoon boom, 
 And hyacinth censers, wherever we pass, 
 Fling up their fragrance from the grass — 
 'Tis the Green o' the Year I 
 
 There comes the Moon, like a sylvan Good-fay, 
 Holding her torch at the turn of the way 
 That leads to a bungalow — can it be ours? — 
 Fenced with yellow forsythia flowers. 
 
 In yonder old Elm's nodding gray crest, 
 
 Dear, 
 Honey-moon Robins are building their rest; 
 Song thrills, blythely sweet, down the brule and fret 
 Of winds — under foot springs the violet — 
 'Tis the Green o' the Year! 
 
 24 
 
ROSEMARY 
 "That's for Remembrance" 
 
 ROSEMARY! Bring me not the flower 
 That's for remembrance, O my Heart! 
 Whose wound drips tears of blood this hour, 
 Wouldst still remember? What, the sour 
 Sharp aspic's death-envenomed dart? 
 
 Didst thou count sweet that pang so dour? 
 
 Dost covet still the bitter smart? 
 Wouldst pluck, of all the garden bower, 
 Rosemary? 
 
 Cull me instead, midst wild, white stour, 
 The poppy bloom, whose sap has power 
 
 Deep dream-dearth slumber to impartl 
 Then couch me in Oblivion's Tower, 
 
 Where breathes no flavor of Life's tart 
 Rosemary I 
 
 25 
 
SONG FOR THE END OF SUMMER 
 
 LOVE, awhile you lived with me, 
 Ere close the coil of grief was drawn; 
 Now wild is the clamor of the sea, 
 
 And cold's the pale gray gleam of dawn 
 
 Across the dreary leaf-strewn lawn, 
 
 Where once I culled the rose for thee. 
 Love, awhile you lived with me, 
 
 Ere close the coil of grief was drawn. 
 
 Where once I culled the rose for thee, 
 Gaunt cedars cast a shadow thrawn; 
 
 Where whistling Bobwhites used to be 
 
 Hoar frost furs thickly the bleachen awn. 
 
 Love, awhile you lived with me, 
 
 Ere close the coil of grief was drawn. 
 
 26 
 
GRANDMAMA'S SLIPPERS 
 
 DEAR Grandmama wore them at the ball, 
 So many years ago. 
 Coquettishly, daintily, slenderly small, 
 With little red heel and toe, 
 
 They danced, to an old-time measure slow, 
 An old-time reel, in an old-time hall, 
 
 When Grandmama wore them at the ball. 
 So many years ago; 
 
 Dancing away with her lifelong thrall — 
 
 A handsome Cavalier. Heigho! 
 Tho' ladies and cavaliers all 
 
 Have vanished like a phantom show. 
 These satin slippers still recall 
 
 The olden love in its fresh young glow, 
 When Grandmama wore tham at the ball. 
 
 So many years ago. 
 
 27 
 
LOVE AT LACK-GOLD'S DOOR 
 
 LOVE came once to my barred door, 
 Love with garland-trophied head. 
 "Open, Dear," to me he said, 
 "I have knocked here o'er and o'er!" 
 
 Smiling, sighing, sweet Love said, 
 "I have knocked here oft before." 
 
 "Love," I sighed with bitter grace, 
 "At some ivied, mullioned oak 
 Echoes deep for you awoke — 
 
 At my neighbor's, fair of face; 
 
 Love woos not us lack-gold folk — 
 
 You called, Love, at some finer place." 
 
 Love fixed on me mournful eyes; 
 "As you will," he said, and bent 
 Low that brow with myrtles brent; 
 
 Slung his pipes, and palmer-wise 
 
 Out along the World-ways went — 
 
 Like a King's son in disguise. 
 
 Now my door stands open wide. 
 
 Ah! many guests sit here within, 
 Shapes of Woe and Want and Sin; 
 
 28 
 
And I have seen Grief's shadow glide 
 
 Against the moon-rays wan and thin; 
 Much I've wept and long have sighed. 
 
 "Love," I plead, "Be welcome here 
 In this heart all desolate!" 
 Where I, cowering, yearn and wait, 
 
 Another, never Love, comes near, — 
 A gaunt and grim unwelcome mate, 
 
 Who whispers, "I'm your bridegroom. Dear!' 
 
 29 
 
GREAT AUNT ELIZABETH 
 
 MY old Great Aunt Elizabeth resembles 
 The willow tree beside a wimple brook; 
 For she is lissome, tall and sweetly slender, 
 
 Just like the portrait in a vellum book 
 Of some divine La Belle Dame Sans Mercl, 
 
 With high coiffed curls and gown of carmoisie — 
 The kind who had so many gallant beaux, 
 And wore rosettes on slim patrician toes. 
 
 My old Great Aunt Elizabeth was young 
 
 More than two-score and two long years ago; 
 
 And if contemporaries tell the truth 
 
 She was a most outrageous flirt also. 
 
 Most every young man in Northamptonshire 
 
 For love of her was ready to expire. 
 
 She never danced the slow majestic reel. 
 
 But some poor heart she spurned beneath her heel. 
 
 My old Great Aunt Elizabeth has lost 
 
 That fine fresh rose-and-gold she used to wear; 
 But still she is the empress of a court. 
 
 And sways an autocratic sceptre there. 
 Her courtiers ride a hobbyhorse, it's true, 
 And duplicate her eyes of heavenly blue. 
 
 Adorable, dear, dimpled kilted beaux 
 Now dance around her slim patrician toes. 
 
 30 
 
DAYS OF SONG 
 
 OUR days of song are ended? Dear one, lay 
 The zither by, if we must song forgo. 
 Music and dancing belong to the passing day — 
 
 Brief and soon chilled is the marvellous romantic 
 glow, 
 And all life's shining gold merges with gray. 
 
 As we plod onward down the sunset way, 
 
 Youth's tune in our ears grows only a faint echo — 
 Sweet and so sad because our hearts both know 
 Our days of song are ended. 
 
 O Love, a bright immortal morrow may 
 Awake your music to a dulcet play 
 
 Of unimagined harmony! Even so, 
 Will my wild dreams come true? "Yes, God!" you 
 say. 
 Makes Hope's Chimeras real; smile then, altho* 
 Our days of song are ended. 
 
 31 
 
CICADA 
 
 CICADA in the linden tree, 
 Thou shrillest loud thy jubilee, 
 Whilst gayer roysterers depart — 
 Awakening in my worldworn heart 
 Wild echoes of the blythe and free. 
 
 Bobolink and faery bee 
 
 And freckled quail are gone; for thee 
 
 Bide creaking crows and grackle swart, 
 Cicada in the linden tree. 
 
 Midst gold and purple filigree. 
 
 Flute on, thou Elf of Arcadie! 
 
 A memory in this modern mart, 
 Of old gray olive woods thou art, 
 
 Whose glades once laughed with naiad glee, 
 Cicada in the linden tree. 
 
 32 
 
BETWEEN FIRE-LIGHT AND MOON 
 
 A SPECTRE came, and stood at my side tonight; 
 The Love whom I lost — was it many long 
 years ago? 
 She wore not the sweet rose-bloom, the radiant 
 bright 
 Alive she was wont to show. 
 
 The moon looked no more wan nor its boding light 
 Across the storm-heaped drift of snow, 
 
 Than so appeared to my blurred hungry sight 
 
 The Love whom I lost — it seemed weary months 
 ago. 
 
 "Why come you from the tomb, dear sad-eyed sprite? 
 Is there no rest," I breathed, "in your bed so 
 
 low? 
 "No rest," she lamented, "your sorrow troubles 
 me so. 
 The tears you shed." Faded, as pale mist might. 
 The Love whom I lost — only one week ago. 
 
 33 
 
DAWN 
 
 AGAINST the ghostly window pane, 
 Starlight and lamps begin to wane; 
 Down airy steeps the moon has spun, 
 And sinks the violet rim below; 
 Yonder are signals of the sun — 
 The wide horizon hill-peaks glow; 
 Mist wreathes lift from dark lowland fields; 
 The Night to brightening morning yields. 
 
 Dawn! and your face I faintly see. 
 You are here, as of yore you were wont to be, 
 But lying so still and so wan, Dear, 
 Beneath the purple of the bier. 
 
 Among the blossoming eglantine 
 The wind breathes like a harp divine, 
 Making a solemn harmony; 
 Love's own soul once it was to me, 
 Wordless, sweet, a soft-spent sigh — 
 A suspiration fluting by; 
 And now its breath upon your hair 
 Lingers in benediction there. 
 
 34 
 
Ohl once about me, close and warm, 
 I felt the folding of your arm; 
 But now my slow-shed tears steep 
 Your eyelids sealed with dreamless sleep. 
 
 Oh! once you lived and loved me, now, 
 Colder than crystal snows your brow; 
 White as the mountain snow and chill 
 Are your hands — your heart is forever still. 
 
 35 
 
THE PARTING KISS 
 
 ONE long last kiss, the last forever, 
 Give me, dear love, before we parti 
 Press hand in hand, and heart to heart, 
 Clasping again on earth no never. 
 
 Soon far, aye far, shall us dissever 
 
 Wild seas with billows deep and swart. 
 
 Now one long kiss, the last forever. 
 Give me, dear love, before we parti 
 
 O wan chill lips, that smile and quiver 
 How like two roses pale thou art! 
 
 Come, farewell now — all, all is over! 
 
 Farewell! While drenching teardrops start, 
 
 One long last kiss, the last forever, 
 Give me, dear love, before we part! 
 
 66 
 
LUCIA 
 
 MY Lucia, Star of Bethlehem, 
 Musky rose and leaves of balm 
 I twined for coronal round thy hair — 
 The flowers shone more richly there 
 Than jewel-crusted diadem. 
 
 Anon I laid my Pilgrim palm 
 And battled-bloodied oriflame 
 
 Against the purples of thy bier, 
 My Lucia. 
 
 Leander, the wild Hellespont swam 
 
 For Hero's love; like him, I am 
 
 Fain Death's unfathomed flood to dare, 
 If I may win Heaven's halcyons, where 
 
 Thou dwellst in God's most blessed calm. 
 My Lucia. 
 
 Z7 
 
CRADLE SONG 
 For the Fisherman's child. 
 
 LOW is the sun on the sea's grey edge, 
 (Hush little baby on my knee); 
 High tide moans round the salt marsh sedge^- 
 Your father's ship is far at sea. 
 
 The gale is up and wails aloud, 
 
 (Rest pretty baby on my breast); 
 
 Sea-gulls fly with the flying cloud — 
 
 Your father is far in the stormy west. 
 
 But sleep, my darling one — mother is nigh, 
 (The billows race white with foam); 
 
 And wild lights fail in the windy sky — 
 
 Your father's ship will be sailing homel 
 Lullabye, Baby. 
 
 38 
 
A PILGRIM OF THE NIGHT 
 
 I AM going the long, long road 
 That leads to the Shadow-land. 
 With drift from the sea it is sown — 
 
 The dead lie on every hand: 
 It is storm-blown, waste and dreary, 
 
 The sea moans in my ears; 
 I tread it alone and weary; 
 
 I water my steps with tears. 
 
 I am going the grim, grim road. 
 
 Thick darkness is over my head, 
 And my heart is a bitter load. 
 Dead ere my body is dead. 
 Oh! why has God no pity on me. 
 
 Seeing me ready to die? 
 Forspent and forsaken utterly. 
 
 There is none to hear me cry. 
 As I stumble along the lonely road, 
 
 That leads to the Shadow-land. 
 
 39 
 
SEA SONG 
 
 THE song Love sang this refrain had, 
 Where rolled the darkling wave: — 
 "O Heart, tonight let us be glad— 
 
 Tomorrow God us save!" 
 So Love said, smiling as he kissed; 
 Said, of Tomorrow who would list? — 
 Where clamoured the long wave. 
 
 We thought not of past summers sped, 
 Where flowed the moonlit wave; 
 
 Not of the yesterdays long dead, 
 Nor of Today's deep grave; 
 
 Time hovered on his tireless wing, 
 
 Joy lingered — but no evil thing — 
 
 Where glimmered the spent wave. 
 
 We had no farther use for tears. 
 
 Where broke the foam-fringed wave; 
 
 For us there lowered no grim years — 
 That one sweet hour gave 
 
 The sweetness of a whole lifetime; 
 
 Our hearts sang o'er Joy's dulcet rhyme, 
 Where flowed the white-fleeced wave. 
 
 Love, every night must have a morn. 
 This side Death's chill still wave; 
 
 40 
 
For every perfect rose a thorn 
 
 Makes sharp its spiney glaive; 
 And we who recked not of Tomorrow, 
 Wakened to learn its name is Sorrow, 
 This side Death's mute, pale wave. 
 
 41 
 
PARTING SONG 
 
 WHEN gray dawns break the sunless wrack, 
 Love, 
 When Hope's star in the tempest's track 
 
 Is blotted out above; 
 When leaves before the loud blast fly, 
 And meadows lay their greenings by; 
 And summer's pale late roses die, 
 With tremulous faint lips we sigh: — 
 Alas, my Love! 
 
 The hills how high, the seas how wide, 
 
 Sweet, 
 That now our homeless hearts divide! 
 
 Lost paths can never meet; 
 We send Desire's ships east and west; 
 They touch far empires in their quest, 
 Seeking rich treasure — all unguessed 
 They wreck that treasure treasured best, 
 
 Alas, my Sweet! 
 
 Love, boastful Love, proves barren gain, 
 
 Dear, 
 While you bide o'er the bridgeless main 
 
 And I weep here; 
 Lonely, toward a lonely goal 
 We pass with mourning of the soul, — 
 For Life has not of Fate control, 
 Alas, my Dear! 
 
 42 
 
WINDOWS 
 
 THE autumn moon rising over the roofs — 
 Sheds it not a ghostly glimmer? 
 And the wan stars high in the frosty sky, 
 How silverly they shimmer. 
 
 There are three red windows across the way, 
 
 And one that shadows enfold; 
 Three ruddy hearths, round which children play, 
 
 And one that is dark and cold. 
 
 See you a shape vaguely outlined there, 
 
 Where no shouts of child merriment sound? 
 
 A face so white in the glimmer moonlight, 
 A woman, sorrow-crowned? 
 
 Slie listens for a step she loves, 
 
 The foot that comes no more; 
 While yonder orb rising over the roofs — 
 
 Sheds it not a ghostly glimmer? 
 And the wan stars high in the frosty sky. 
 
 How silverly they shimmer. 
 
 43 
 
ROSE AYLMER 
 
 THE fire burns low; the shadowy room is lapped 
 In midnight silence; th' unwearying Wind, 
 Like some wild harper wandering thro' the world, 
 Plays weirdly at the lattice. O sublime, 
 Unearthly minstrel, what's thy mystic name, 
 Where spirits flame and their adagios breathe, 
 Among the immortelles of Paradise? 
 
 While silent hour to silent hour glides, 
 I muse of her whose lonely bloom was shed 
 O'er ancient Ganges' whitely glimmering wave. 
 Rose Aylmer! Eon-long, midst sighs and tears 
 Thy name shall linger with thy poet's song — 
 An echo of lost love, mournfully sweet, 
 Charming the ear like music heard in dreams. 
 
 44 
 
w 
 
 THE WHEAT HARVEST MOON 
 
 HEN the wheat-harvest Moon shines full and 
 clear, 
 
 I remember the moon of a by-gone year, 
 The thrill of a song, 
 Silent aye long. 
 
 The moon shines white on the garnered wheat; 
 Where are the friends whom I used to greet? 
 Some estranged and some sped. 
 Some asleep with the dead. 
 
 The summer moon in the summer sky 
 
 Minds me of yesterdays long gone by — 
 Of the Beloved who sleep, 
 Where ivy vines creep, 
 
 And the thrill of a song, 
 Long silent, aye longl 
 
 45 
 
YESTERDAYS 
 
 WHENEVER the moon is bright like this, 
 I dream of a summer of bygone bliss — 
 Past now and done 
 With yesterday's sun. 
 
 The moon shines golden over the bough; 
 I sigh for rose-evenings, vanished now — 
 
 Vanished and sped, 
 
 Sealed up and long dead. 
 
 The moon, ghostlike in the dusky sky, 
 Minds me of yesterdays long gone by — 
 
 Vanished, withdrawn 
 
 Like the mist at dawn, 
 
 Like loved eyes that gleam 
 Thro* a morning dream. 
 
 46 
 
THE SEA-BIRD BARKENTINE 
 
 'rTAWAS bloom o' the ground and balm o' the air, 
 ■J- When ships went a-sailing fine and fair; 
 
 Oh! the ships went a-sailing far over th' sea, 
 
 And my heart sank as heavy as death within me. 
 At thought o' the lad with flaxen hair, 
 
 Who shipped with the Sea-bird barkentine — 
 
 Sailing th' tossing blue o' brine. 
 
 As I paced down the shadowy strand, 
 A-weeping between wild sea and sand, 
 
 I saw a white ship o'er-topping the wave; 
 
 Oh! I saw a white ship 'yond the hollow foam 
 cave. 
 An' I knew 'twas a sail from Labrador land. 
 
 My heart it upleapt with joy and with fear. 
 
 Seeing th' ship in th' haven so near. 
 
 As I hurried along the windy scaur; 
 Th' barkentine glided inside o' th' bar; 
 
 Oh! th' barkentine anchored 'gainst the low 
 moon; 
 
 I felt myself close in his dear arms soon. 
 While his warm mouth kissed and kissed, every star 
 
 That looked on us two, so bright and so high, 
 
 Seemed to twirl and to dance in the dusky sky. 
 
 47 
 
WIND SPRITES 
 
 WIND Sprites scurry across the fields; 
 They shuffle thro* the yellow leaves, 
 Spin thistle-silk loomlike in air, 
 
 Play hide and seek among ripe sheaves. 
 
 Into the yawning chimney-throat, 
 
 "Hello — Hello I" one hears them shout; 
 
 They sob and moan around the eaves. 
 
 They toss the Oak's gaunt boughs about. 
 
 They leap light-footed thro' the woods, 
 
 And snatch the writhing tree-tops bare; 
 
 Like thugs from pathside thickets bounding, 
 
 The Pilgrim's hood from his brow they tear. 
 
 When frosty stars shine tinkling cold. 
 
 When the lonely Moon o'er the mountain peers, 
 Wind Sprites wild revels keep together. 
 
 In dusky glades and by glimmering weirs. 
 
 Wherever men lie in their blood, 
 
 Strown on some grim-fought battle ground, 
 Come Wind Sprites chanting requiems, 
 
 Their corses to wrap with mist-shrouds round. 
 
 48 
 
Creeping in with the shallow riffle 
 
 Under a sea-cove's craggy ledge, 
 Wind Sprites find there a stark drownea sailor, 
 
 Couched on the tangled salty sedge. 
 
 With shells they twine his matty locks, 
 
 Dank ivy too and water weeds; 
 And in his sunken eyeballs sow 
 
 Pale grasses and thin-winged seeds. 
 
 Beyond the dash of the crashing billow. 
 
 White drifting sands his cerement, 
 They leave him alone in his sepulchre 
 
 To sleep till Death be spent. 
 
 Near-by and afar in country and town 
 
 Range Wind Sprites thro' the darkness bleak; 
 And folk who waken when they pass 
 
 Are human comfort fain to seek — 
 
 The touch of sweet companionship, 
 
 A loving hand, a presence dear; 
 Or maybe only a soft-drawn breath, 
 
 The eerie loneliness to cheer. 
 
 49 
 
THE STORM SPIRIT 
 
 OVER the hills, in my car of fire, 
 I thundered clamorously; 
 The swirl of my wild wheels roaring aloud 
 
 Above the crest of the alpine tree; 
 My bugler Winds blared their wicked desire 
 To the peak, the wave, and the cloud. 
 
 Far over the seas, on my silvery sail. 
 
 Laughing madly, and screaming, I flew; 
 
 Huge billows foamed under my quivering flail, 
 
 And the Moon's red torch thro' the wrack and dew 
 
 Shone strangely across the petrel's breast — 
 
 The petrel, winging out of the west, 
 In the track of the scudding gale. 
 
 My demon myrmidons, swarming afloat, 
 I saw by my torch-lightning's flare; 
 
 They dragged on to the rocks a schooner-boat — 
 The petrel flew low in the air. 
 
 Out of the darkness, boom on boom. 
 
 Alarum guns sounded appeal; 
 Her star-rockets spurting high in the gloom; 
 
 The stricken ship quivered from prow to keel. 
 
 50 
 
And vast seas, piling mountainous tall, 
 
 Clear over her foretop crashed. 
 "The life-boats! lower away; lively all!" 
 Rang out the captain's gallant call; 
 
 They lowered fast; like cockle smashed 
 Was every boat, and all hands dashed 
 
 Deep down to a watery doom. 
 
 Down into a slimy, oozy den 
 
 Where moon-eyed monsters crawl and creep, 
 Plunged women and little ones and men — 
 
 Unnumbered fathoms deep. 
 
 Far down and deep, with a wild distress. 
 
 With shuddering wail on wail, 
 Deep in a weltering wilderness. 
 
 The ship went under, mast and sail. 
 
 Oh! what is that cry of such fearsomeness?" 
 
 Asked the fisherman's wife, a-pale; 
 "And what is that grinding and groaning I hear, 
 
 Above the crash of the roaring gale?" 
 "It is only the scream of a gull, my dear." 
 "The gull that cries. 
 The fisherman turned on his pollow — 
 
 As it wheels and flies 
 In the track of the racing billow." 
 
 51 
 
"Ha! what is that light?" said the coast-patrol. 
 
 "Is it a signal-flash I see, 
 Shining low on the sea's long roll? 
 
 It is only a setting star maybe." 
 
 "No star, for the sky is murky with wrack," 
 Spoke the life-guard at the station. 
 
 "That glow you see against the black 
 Is a ship in conflagration. 
 
 "She's sinking fast in a watery grave — 
 
 A fearful doom," said he. 
 "For while we're brave as any are brave, 
 
 No boat can dare this sea." 
 
 They watched all night, in wind and rain, 
 
 But naught else might they do; 
 For the sea swirled high, and the hurricane 
 
 Blew hard the whole night thro'. 
 
 I shrilled my wild Wind-minions back. 
 
 And clamped the leash at their throats once more; 
 A hush fell over their weltering track, 
 
 A deep hush on the lonesome shore. 
 
 My silvery sails caught the dawn's pale light, 
 The ruddy sun's rising glow; 
 
 52 
 
The crumbling swells glanced crystal-bright, 
 Tufted with frothy snow. 
 
 Far yonder on the green waves' lift, 
 
 Where the porpoise ramped and played, 
 Where tods of pale sea-moss adrift 
 
 Her velvety couch made, 
 I saw a girl, very beautiful — 
 
 Her mouth looked set for prayer. 
 And smiled with the kiss immutable, 
 
 The Angel had left there. 
 
 Her arms and throat and bosom gleamed, 
 Thro* her auburn hair, spread wide; 
 
 She slept a-quiet, as tho' she dreamed 
 Of her father's hearth-side. 
 
 It seemed her dream must be as sweet, 
 
 As when the light grew dim 
 Around her own safe bed at home — 
 
 No organ-crash of tumbling foam. 
 But summer wind across the wheat 
 
 Brought to her ear a hymn — 
 
 Distantly the music rang, 
 
 Yet sounded full and clear, 
 As tho* the choristers who sang 
 
 Were standing very near. 
 
 S3 
 
Adrift upon the sea she lay, 
 And happy was her rest — 
 
 As when a child, tired out with play, 
 Sleeps on its mother's breast. 
 
 As when a bird to the wilderness flies. 
 
 And no one guesses where. 
 Along the seas and morning skies 
 
 I sped into my lair. 
 
 As when a bird to the wilderness wings, 
 I flew along vale and hill — 
 
 Peace fell upon all living things. 
 
 And the troubled world was still. 
 
 54 
 
SHADOWS AND DREAMS 
 
 THE Moon, like a Pilgrim of the Night, 
 Plods over the dim hills, wandering far; 
 Close in her track, calm-eyed and white, 
 Follows the earliest Vesper Star. 
 
 The chapel's cross-tipped dusky spire 
 Points to the haven of Soul's Desire. 
 What peace, in the churchyard here, alone? — 
 No sound but the slow sweet organ tone 
 And the tune of the Wind's wild dulcimer, 
 In the leaves of the aspen-trees astir. 
 
 When Time began, and Earth was young. 
 Newly decked like a Bride in her golden gay 
 Mantle of leaf and flower, before 
 The hills were hoary or alp-peaks gray; 
 When Man was not yet fashioned, o'er 
 The gates of alternate Night and Day 
 Those great world-arc-lights God uphung 
 To guide our footsteps, lest they stray, 
 Misled by some wild marish light 
 Into a bizarre Godless night. 
 
 Dark ivied chapel, in silhouette, 
 Upon the bright sky-violet; 
 
 55 
 
Wild-rose blossom and myrtles dim, 
 Clustering round the fountain's rim; 
 Light and shade upon solemn steeps; 
 Organ-tone and evening hymn — 
 O Heart that under the white rose sleeps — 
 What more than shadow masques are these, 
 Mere shifty dream-wrought semblances. 
 The symbol only and the sign 
 Of the one grand Truth divine. 
 
 LALAGE 
 
 CLEAR as a lambent-embered star 
 In fadeless azure burning, 
 Bright, unattainable and far — 
 O to my soul a deathless star — 
 You dwell v/here holy seraphs are; 
 
 I here, a pilgrim yearning, 
 Lalage, like a lambent star 
 In fadeless azure burning. 
 
 56 
 
LOVE'S PASSING 
 "Ere the Day Break" 
 
 ACROSS the awn I saw Love flee 
 Into the brightening dawn, 
 Between the low moon and the sea, 
 Across the awn. 
 
 Here lies but silhouettes thin drawn 
 Of bleaching leaf and tree. 
 
 Across the chill rime-whitened lawn, 
 Between the low moon and the sea. 
 
 These only has Love left with me. 
 
 These wandering ghosts and thrawn, 
 
 Pale shapes and phantasms ruth of blee, 
 That haunt the russet awn. 
 
 57 
 
EVENING SONG 
 
 MOURNFULLY, drearily now the rain 
 Beats upon roof and window-pane, 
 Wearily, drearily. 
 
 Drearily, in their twilight towers, 
 Bells take toll of the sullen Hours, 
 Drearily, wearily. 
 
 Sweetly, cheerily rings the song 
 Of Ministering Angels, throng on throng, 
 Joyously, cheerily. 
 
 Angels and Spirits blest. 
 Who abide in God's deep rest 
 Ever tranquilly, 
 
 Stoops to us, blessed bands, 
 And bear us up with loving hands, 
 While this night we sleep I 
 
 58 
 
OLD LOVE A-DYING 
 
 OMOON, on your cloud-woven throne, 
 Look where is my false Lover flying, 
 While I wait at the tryst-place alone. 
 
 I am here on the hour ,but my heart's own 
 
 Comes not; and with grief I am dying, 
 O Moon, on your cloud-woven throne. 
 
 Hush! is it he? No, that wild tone 
 
 Is the Night Wind mournfully sighing, 
 While I wait at the tryst-place alone. 
 
 That voice o'er the black billows blown. 
 
 Is it the sea-mew a-crying. 
 O Moon, on your cloud-woven throne? 
 
 The gull and the grey light are flown. 
 
 And a ghost there to fright me is trying. 
 While I wait at the tryst-place alone. 
 
 *Tis the ghost of the Past we have both known, 
 Who laments with our sorrow vying, 
 
 O Moon, on your cloud-woven throne, 
 While I wait at the tryst-place alone. 
 
 59 
 
lANTHE'S LOVE SONG 
 
 SLEEP, Sorrow, sleep ! I would not have thee scare 
 From its soft nest this bird that's in my bosom. 
 O pale and wan, O ashen-lipped and chill, 
 Take thy calm rest in some far-off, deep, still. 
 
 Dim cavern. 
 Some cell unknown of me! Thy lonely habitation 
 
 I would not seek, thy dreams I would not break. 
 Sleep on, inwrapt with clouds, thou tearful-eyed, 
 
 Thou wistful! 
 Sleep, Sorrow, guestless Sorrow, slumber on! 
 
 Waken, O Joy, dear child of Dawn and Light! 
 
 Thou who wast cradled with the Stars of Morning, 
 And nourished near the brooks of Paradise. 
 Burst thro' thine azure veils! Awake, arise! 
 
 Long wished-for, long delaying, 
 Come, O Come! for Love is in my breast — 
 A dove that hovers white-winged o'er its nest. 
 
 Young Joy and Love, these my companions be! 
 Who would not run among the flowers, and chase 
 
 That Fair-'o-Face, 
 That fleet-foot Joy, when Love broods in her breast? 
 Joy, Crowned with myrtles, laughing-lipped and 
 free — 
 Him would I lure from Heaven to make him home 
 With me. 
 
 ^ 
 
THE HOUSE OF HIS FRIENDS 
 
 IN the house of his dearest friends 
 Love is no longer a guest; 
 There are lords of princely prebends, 
 And queens in cramosie dressed. 
 
 Love is no longer a guest, 
 
 Tho' monarchs and princes there stand. 
 And queens in cramosie dressed — 
 
 The great and renowned of the land. 
 
 Tho* monarchs and princes there stand, 
 
 In glitter and glory of light, 
 The great and renowned of the land, 
 
 We remember a far bygone night. 
 
 In glitter and glory of light 
 
 We mingled with kisses our tears; 
 
 We remember a far bygone night 
 Across the long silence of years. 
 
 We mingled with kisses our tears. 
 As we plighted eternal troth — 
 
 Across the long silence of years 
 
 What sad ghost beckons us both? 
 
 As we plighted eternal troth. 
 
 Ere the blossom of youth was shed,' 
 
 61 
 
What sad ghost beckons us both, 
 
 Rising pale from the tomb of the dead? 
 
 Ere the blossom of youth was shed 
 
 With the rose were we crowned, not with rue; 
 Rising pale from the tomb of the dead, 
 
 See the spectre of Love whom we slew. 
 
 With the rose were we crowned, not with rue, 
 When roses bloomed the year long. 
 
 See the spectre of Love whom we slew, 
 And buried with mirth and song! 
 
 When roses bloomed the year long 
 We were greedy of glory and gold, 
 
 And buried with mirth and song 
 
 Hallowed Love, in the days of old. 
 
 We were greedy of glory and gold. 
 So we bartered our honor for gain. 
 
 Hallowed Love, in the days of old. 
 Was manacled thus, and slain. 
 
 So we bartered our honor for gain. 
 
 And Love to unholy ends 
 Was manacled thus, and slain 
 
 In the house of his dearest friends. 
 
 62 
 
BREAK O' DAY 
 
 LOVE, you Imp, in an angel's guise, 
 Fare you well, at break o' dayl 
 My heart is a seer austerely wise, 
 
 And speeds you rejoicing on your way. 
 
 Kiss me, and part if you will not stay! 
 
 We met with a smile, we sunder with sighs 
 Love, you Imp in an angel's guise, 
 
 Fare you well, at break o' day! 
 
 Wild is the wind that sobs and cries; 
 
 Cold is the dawning light and gray; 
 Colder your mouth and the kiss it plies; 
 
 Colder than frost on the buds in May. 
 Love, you Imp in an angel's guise, 
 
 Fare you well, at break o' dayl 
 
 63 
 
WANDERLUST 
 
 LIKE a bee in the red and white clover 
 I've wandered never at rest — 
 My fancy the fickle world over 
 Roving with changeable zest. 
 
 I've wandered, never at rest, 
 
 Hither and thither blown. 
 Roving with changeable zest 
 
 Thro' gardens passion sown. 
 
 Hither and thither blown 
 
 On the wings of my wild desire, 
 
 Thro' gardens passion sown. 
 The roses of which are fire. 
 
 On the wings of my wild desire, 
 
 That beat o'er these gardens strange, 
 
 The roses of which are fire 
 
 Fanned with the breath of change, 
 
 That beat o'er these gardens strange 
 Where never a star-flower shines — 
 
 Fanned with the breath of change 
 Underneath the dark-leaved vines. 
 
 64 
 
Where never a star-flower shines, 
 
 But girls of naiad grace, 
 Underneath the dark-leaved vines 
 
 Glance out with laughing face; 
 
 But girls of naiad grace — 
 
 Doves leashed in falcon jesses — 
 
 Glance out with laughing face 
 
 Thro' loose long golden tresses. 
 
 Doves leashed in falcon jesses! 
 
 Does a single one remain, 
 Thro' loose long golden tresses. 
 
 To smile on me in my pain? 
 
 Does a single one remain 
 
 At the bed-grave in which I am lying, 
 To smile on me in my pain, 
 
 With kisses to sweeten my dying? 
 
 At the bed-grave in which I am lying — 
 All except the doxology done — 
 
 With kisses to sweeten my dying 
 Is left to me one, only one. 
 
 All except the doxology done; 
 
 Done forever life's harlequin shows; 
 
 65 
 
Is left to me one, only one — 
 
 Love goes where the sated moth goes. 
 
 Done forever life's harlequin shows; 
 
 Adieu, you that cloyed me with kisses — 
 Loves goes where the sated moth goes, 
 
 In search for dewier blisses. 
 
 Adieu, you that cloyed me with kisses! 
 
 Too fain would I follow you — whither? 
 In search of dewier blisses, 
 
 Flitting restlessly hither and thither. 
 
 Too fain would I follow you — whither? 
 
 My fancy the fickle world over. 
 Flitting restlessly hither and thither, 
 
 Like a bee in the red and white clover. 
 
 66 
 
SONGS FOR MAGDALEN 
 
 From the Love Songs of Scandinavia. 
 
 THE MOONLIT WINDOW 
 
 THE moon hangs low in the crystal sky— 
 The moon so golden-bright! 
 And about her circle in pagentry 
 Clear stars of the frosty night. 
 
 The moon hangs low in the crystal sky, 
 
 And into my window glances; 
 Her still white beams breed tenderest dreams, 
 
 And a thousand happy fancies. 
 
 Perhaps far away in the distant town 
 At the window my sweetheart stands; 
 
 The moon a saintly aureole weaves 
 
 Round forehead and lips and hands. 
 
 How sweet is this vision I dreaming see! 
 
 Her face at the window there, 
 With uplifted brow and meek hallowed hands 
 
 Folded together in prayer. 
 
 67 
 
BROKEN VOWS 
 
 I AM thinking, sadly thinking, 
 Of a night — not long ago — 
 When so blythely we were sitting 
 In the ruddy hearth-light's glow. 
 
 I am thinking, sadly thinking, 
 
 Of honey words then softly spoken — 
 The loving vows you murmured sweetly, 
 
 Vows, alas! so lightly broken. 
 
 Why, Oh! why — I'm sadly thinking — 
 
 Were such honey words then spoken? 
 
 Was it well to murmur sweetly 
 Vows, alas! so lightly broken? 
 
 68 
 
THE FALSE ONE 
 
 WHILE you were kissing me, Beloved, 
 You vowed you loved me solely, solely; 
 Fool, to believe your promises! — 
 I yielded to your kisses wholly. 
 
 Ah me! the lips whose kisses burned me 
 Have grown at last so brusquely cold; 
 
 They whisper in another ear now 
 
 That same dear tale to me they told. 
 
 Quickly, quickly now will I hasten 
 
 Into my grave that is dark and deep — 
 
 Deep and dark, and I will not dream of 
 My false-mouthed lover in my sleep. 
 
 69 
 
ROBERT 
 
 ROBERT, my beloved, 
 I am lying in my shroud; 
 I'm afeared you cannot hear me, 
 Call I never so loud. 
 
 The mould lies black upon me, 
 
 My throat is choked with dust; 
 
 Robert, my beloved. 
 
 Still cry to you I must. 
 
 1 wandered far, my dearest. 
 
 When the night was wild and bleak; 
 The bitter tears I shed then 
 Were frozen on my cheek. 
 
 O Robert, my beloved, 
 
 From the grave wherein I lie 
 Do not you hear me calling. 
 
 Must not you hear me cry? 
 
 70 
 
SERENADE TO CECILE 
 
 MUSICIAN, with your sweet guitar 
 You set the muted night a-thrill 
 While Cecile, vestal as nuns are, 
 May be to even an angel chill. 
 
 While vestal Cecile dreams, and still 
 
 Bright gates of dreams their bolts unbar, 
 
 Musician, with your sweet guitar 
 You set the muted night a-thrill. 
 
 Ere midnight tolls, winks out a Star — 
 
 The Moon peers wide-eyed o'er yon hill; 
 
 The casement clicks — is thrust ajar; 
 While Cecile leans upon the sill 
 
 Musician, with your sweet guitar 
 You set the muted night a-thrill. 
 
 71 
 
NOVEMBER WOODS 
 
 A SCARLET fire consumes the woods; 
 Oak-trees toss high their flaming brands; 
 Thin silhouettes upon the light 
 
 Poplars uplift their yellow wands. 
 
 Before the crispy western blow, 
 
 Cottony clouds scud the violet; 
 
 In each dim pine and cedern bough 
 
 Sweet-thrilling windy harps are set. 
 
 72 
 
SONNETS 
 
THE ELD SAID THEME 
 
 IT needs no new song on the eld-said theme — 
 By many a poet sung, by sages writ, 
 Worn, but still worthy of our modern wit: 
 Be luise To-day. While shadowy as a dream 
 
 Life's eidolons lie mirrored in the stream 
 
 That seeks an unknown gulf, this precept's fit 
 For our concern : Seize winged hours ere they flit, 
 
 Nor wait Tomorrow's evanescent beam. 
 
 While blooms the rose, pluck now if you are wise; 
 
 While brims the cup, drink, biding not the morn — 
 For you, perhaps, no Morrow will arise; 
 
 But other hands among the ripening corn 
 
 Stoop for the flowers you missed, and other eyes 
 
 Behold the Glory your Soul has forsworn. 
 
 75 
 
THE AVALON OF HEART'S DESIRE 
 
 SUNSET'S red ember fades; now high in the blue 
 Rides the great Moon — a silver-fingered gnome, 
 Her pontoon flinging across the clamorous foam, 
 And trances my heart with a vision unreal-true. 
 
 Trances my heart away through mist and dew 
 To an Avalon, Isle Avalon, the home 
 Of dream-born spirits, who light-footedly roam 
 
 Meadows that globed dandelions strew. 
 
 O Land, nor tides of Grief or Death submerge. 
 Forever hidden beneath star-drift wan, 
 Forever luring, O my Avalon, 
 
 Where I shall find my own again! No dirge 
 
 Wails down your music- wind; what might-have- 
 been 
 Will there be real — your ivy be evergreen. 
 
 !(> 
 
THE SYLVAN DANCE 
 (For a picture by Corot) 
 
 IS this the mystic Vale of Heart's Desire, 
 Within the hills of marvel hidden deep? 
 For here the light swoons and in fadeless sleep 
 Dim poppies ever quench their drowsy fire; 
 
 Always slow winds among dark boughs suspire; 
 Forever girls and lads their revels keep, 
 And thro' the starlit hush forever sweep 
 
 Wild rhapsodies of dulcimer and lyre. 
 
 O dream-heard Music, catch my soul in thrall! 
 Bid me make one in yonder sylvan round: 
 Almost I sense the golden surge of sound, 
 
 Almost the Echo's faint and dying fall, 
 
 As led by Love across the shadowy grass, 
 Linked together, hand in hand, they pass. 
 
 n 
 
THE THREE QUEENS OF AVALON 
 
 IN purple sendal stoled came those Queens three, 
 And on the waste sands stood, with wistful eyes 
 Scanning the blue between bright waves and skies 
 For gleam of sails skimming the halcyon sea 
 
 Beyond which kings did battle to be free 
 
 Of Evil, while their pale lips breathed faint sighs — 
 They saw only seamews over the foam-crests rise 
 
 And cloud-cast shadows lengthening on the lea. 
 
 With golden gauze one veiled her grand dark head; 
 Sun-tressed the second was and flower-fair; 
 The third seemed more than earth-born woman 
 sweet, 
 
 As if she dreamed of hopes and loves long sped. 
 So waited they — calm, stately, silent — where 
 Thin glass-green billows broke against their feet. 
 
 78 
 
LOVE-s; DESERTED DWELLING 
 
 YOUR house stands bleak, untenanted; tonight 
 I watch outside a moment, while the gray 
 Frost-wreathen windows wherein weird gleams 
 sway — 
 Stare at me like cold eyes bereft of sight. 
 
 The Moon above the gables lifts her bright 
 
 And shifty torch; the Winds' wild trumpets play 
 Among the nude elms' rocking tops, and fray 
 
 Their giant shapes against the keen clear light. 
 
 How many a round must the changing seasons run 
 While I share with the Moon a watcher's part? 
 O roving Love, when violet bloom anew, 
 
 And boughs reburgeon to the April sun, 
 Will not sweet springtide memories turn you 
 Back to your home in my deserted heart? 
 
 79 
 
SPIRITUELLE 
 
 WHY love I thee? What precious charm of thine 
 Allures my thought so fondly to regale 
 Itself on thee? Thy solmen brow and pale — 
 Theme worth an Angelo's stately marble line; 
 
 Pure profile, lips curved with a grace divine, 
 Eyes that do make all other lights to fail? 
 Not so, nor can this surface show avail 
 
 To hold in bonds, ethereal Fancy fine. 
 
 Eyes, mouth, and all thy shape give sweetest hint 
 Of heavenliness beneath the grosser part; 
 And, dearest one, when I consider thee, 
 
 Whose gold was coined in no mortal mint, 
 
 Then to my heart's inquiry says my heart: — 
 Love's lovely soul makes my Love dear to me. 
 
 80 
 
BEGGAR HEART 
 
 WERE you a star and I a firefly set 
 To light the marsh grass, Love, your bright 
 renown 
 Might my pale glamour with your glory drown; 
 Were I a wanton, would I ever fret 
 
 My heart with too much doting on you? — yet 
 
 You count me frail — a moth, a toy — to frown 
 Upon or fondle at your whim, discrown 
 
 My brows of honour, my wifely state forget. 
 
 If not for Love's, Oh! still for pity's sake 
 
 Bid me within your heart's dear sanctuary dwell! 
 I'll be a beggar — stretch my hands to take 
 
 The crumbs, if at Life's feast you nought can spare 
 But crumbs — tho' Love, Love! loving you so well, 
 In all my best I offer you a share. 
 
 81 
 
FOR DOROTHY FARRELL 
 
 Epitaph on an old gravestone in a Virginia 
 churchyard: 
 
 Here lieth the body of 
 
 Dorothy Farrell 
 
 Who deceased th 18 Jany. 
 
 1673 
 
 WOMAN, god-fashioned for a man's caress; 
 Lady, for life's most noble uses born. 
 My fancy limns you — as at break of morn 
 Brightest the dewed rose looks in loveliness. 
 
 Methinks you knew grim pioneer distress. 
 
 Repining; and, proud only with the scorn 
 Crass hardship's fleer — but never felt forlorn 
 
 Of base deeds, lived you free wild world to bless. 
 
 Perhaps some old oil-portrait, in a frame 
 
 Tarnished and dull, hung in a cobwebbed room, 
 Shows your young lineaments unfaded yet; 
 
 Your golden story, your melodious name 
 
 In some dim register are crudely set — 
 
 Like brocade left in a forgotten loom. 
 
 82 
 
The Seaflower brought you maybe over sea, 
 
 Beneath your Goodman's oaken roof to dwell, 
 Where barked the wolf, and pines stood sentinel: 
 
 Then little children sat upon your knee, 
 
 And near the hearth that flared right ruddily 
 
 Your spinning-wheel made music. Was it well 
 With you and yours? God grant no ill befell 
 
 From stealthy gaudy-painted enemy. 
 
 You are wan ashes now; slow dusty years 
 And blind oblivion have left no clue. 
 Save here your epitaph enveiled with gray, 
 
 Pale moss; and, lingering with the glamoured day, 
 I weave of old imagined loves and tears 
 
 This pensive romance, Dorothy, for you. 
 
 83 
 
APRIL 
 
 1 
 
 APRIL beseems a young girl whose loose hair 
 Lies in long shining glory round her throat 
 And shoulders; silky gauzes flutter, float 
 Either side of her down-dropped eyelids where 
 
 A shy smile dartles like a star's cool flair. 
 
 Oh! she is shy, and still her fawn eyes gloat 
 When some male youngling's agonies denote 
 
 Love has unleashed the lioness from her lair! 
 
 Oftimes she dances o'er the violets; 
 
 Sometimes a willow-shadowed brook beside 
 Flings down her shape, and with the gray cloud 
 weeps. 
 
 Her smile is Mona Lisa's, and begets 
 
 A marvel in us — what thought does she hide, 
 What Hope beneath that snow-cold bosom sleeps? 
 
 84 
 
2 
 April o'ertops the hills with fluffy green, 
 
 And frays soft showers thro' with sparkling light; 
 She weaves into gray boughs lace-strands of 
 white 
 Wild flowers; the bramble-tufted banks between 
 
 Glimmers the sauntering runnel's glassy sheen; 
 
 So still is the smoky air — and sweet! At night 
 The farmer's burning brush-pile's flaring height 
 
 Like some portentous signal fire is seen. 
 
 When skies glow warm again with luminous blue, 
 Redbreast returns to the tree he loved of old. 
 And hoar rinds feel their quickening saps anew; 
 
 Once more the brown mould mints bright jonquil 
 
 gold, 
 And as her heart's deep mysteries unfold 
 
 Love once more finds the old sweet dream come 
 true. 
 
 85 
 
LOVERS 
 
 SHY as a fawn and with the fawn's wild grace, 
 From my arms do not, young sweet Juliet, fly! 
 The Moon's great orbed candle flaring high 
 Checkers the grass with shadowy interlace 
 
 And lights us to our rose-pleached trysting place. 
 Hist! Wind in the elm breathes low its music 
 
 high- 
 No other sound. Your large blue timorous eye, 
 
 A moment lifted, falls and your girl face 
 
 Is hidden in the gold veil of your hair. 
 
 Lie still, bright head, upon your lover's breast — 
 Dearer than my heart's dearest drop to me! 
 
 Oh! let me kiss those trembling lips to rest, 
 And kiss away the beaded tear-dew, where 
 Dusk lashes shade your cheek's warm purity. 
 
 86 
 
PRAYER 
 
 OGOD, my life is full of grief and fret; 
 Darkness lies round me starless and my way 
 Leads thro' an unknown wild. Boding dismay 
 Weighs down my heart! Dost Thou, Father, forget. 
 
 Thy promises — the rainbow set 
 
 For covenant between us? Thou didst say 
 Thy children never should unheeded pray, 
 
 Nor vainly cry out of an evil net. 
 
 Are we not Thine? Oh! then remember Thou 
 
 My sainted father's service and the tears 
 My mother wept — her prayers remember, night 
 
 And morning ascending, like sweet incense. Now 
 Come to my help — else if God stop His ears, 
 Our love and faith seem nothing in His sight. 
 
 87 
 
WHITE FLOWERS OF SORROW 
 
 I QUESTION vainly why such crown I wear! 
 Out of my Soul's silent Gethsemane 
 
 Light Divine, Thou sternly hast led me 
 Up the drear steep to Sorrow's summit, where 
 
 White martyr flowers blossom — meekness rare 
 
 With Faith that grips the rock, and other three 
 Low-growing underneath, the gray Pain tree — 
 
 Peace, Patience, Love. But, dear Christ, dost Thou 
 care 
 
 How bleeds my brow, and drips with blood my heart? 
 Weary, despairing, weeping, praying, I 
 Ponder why fail Joy's aureolas red? 
 
 So I aspired; to win the stars my part 
 
 1 thought — Thou knowest, Blessed Wisdom, why 
 I clasp Thy cross on Calvary instead. 
 
MONUMENTS 
 
 CONSIDER Monuments — how in gray fanes 
 The companies of Mighty Ones repose, 
 Eneffigied and urned; Egypt on those 
 Stupendous shafts which spire her desert plains 
 
 Graved immemorial symbols; but what gains 
 
 The pompous Dreamer with such vaulting shows? 
 The lamp of Fame its fluctuant ember throws 
 
 How far beyond a lifetime's brief campaign? 
 
 Nothing avails, when once the vital spark 
 Has been exhaled into the unfathomed Dark, 
 Dusty Oblivion to revivify; 
 
 Nor whose the name that gilds the crumbling tower, 
 Now who lies under the carven lotus flower, 
 
 Heeds not the bustling crowd fast hurrying by. 
 
 89 
 
THE GRIEVED HEART 
 
 SOMETIMES, murmuring secretly, I say, 
 Neighbors and friends receive all of God's best — 
 Riches and honors, chosen work and rest 
 When daily toil is ended. Are not they 
 
 The favorites of Heaven? Not hard their way 
 
 Thro' many a grove and green field o'er the crest 
 Of prospect hills. Their hearts are not oppressed 
 
 Like mine — till often I have not strength to pray. 
 
 But Oh I how different the road that I 
 
 Am treading, with poor lame and bleeding feet, 
 In Life's wild places, desert and sprent with shard! 
 
 Father, dost Thou not hear my heart-broken cry? 
 Surely Thy promises are strong and sweet; 
 And I have prayed — yet hast Thou no regard. 
 
 90 
 
MELANCHOLIA 
 
 1 
 
 SICK with despair and outworn with regret 
 I waken while the Moon, now wasted grown, 
 Peers at me — like a widow who has thrown 
 Her veil aside — thro' Night's dim oubliette. 
 
 Like a pale widow who cannot forget 
 
 Her lost mate, I lie weeping here alone 
 Where once on two yon fading cresset shone — 
 
 Grieving for you and your love's unpaid debt. 
 
 What tragic fate is this — that hearts should find 
 Joy each in other, only soon to part! 
 Oh! Life is like the Moon — constant in change: 
 
 Thus loosens Fate what faithful Love would bind, 
 So yield the old to fickle faces strange. 
 
 And Sorrow treads down Joy in every heart. 
 
 91 
 
Sleepless while still the fading stars delay 
 
 Their setting; restless tho' the world's at rest, 
 With many a grief and many a care oppressed, 
 
 Too sickly beams for me yon ruddy ray, 
 
 Too bleak and gray the light of rising day: 
 Day, like the Phoenix from a fiery nest 
 Is reborn now and Yesterday's pale guest 
 
 Comes back to vex me with the old dismay. 
 
 Sorrows, that cheated us in Hope's disguise, 
 
 Show what they are by day; the secret tears 
 We shed unseen are mocked by morning spies; 
 
 O cloistered Night! no star of sweet ray cheers! 
 More welcome thou, than primrose painted skies — 
 That dawn above blue crags and crystal weirs. 
 
 92 
 
THE THRUSH-SONG AT DAWN 
 (For Romeo and Juliet) 
 
 WHAT! is it day? O Dawn, that crystal-dewed 
 Smiles as a woman smiles thro' happy tears 
 When after hours of throe, heart-thrilled she 
 hears 
 Her baby cry! That song which is renewed, 
 
 Only to fail with passionate lassitude — 
 
 Is it the thrush's lilting down the years, 
 The fatal harbinger of sundering fears, 
 
 When foes upon Love's sacred night intrude? 
 
 It is the thrush-song — to our hearts the knell 
 
 Of too-brief joy. O Love, haste to be gone — 
 Hear at yon door the tread of heavy feet. 
 
 Kiss me, and go — one kiss! Now fare you well! 
 While this dear hope I feed my heart upon— 
 I speed my love, my husband soon to greet. 
 
 93 
 
LAUNCELOT AND GUINEVERE 
 
 SEE! 'mongst the old elms firefly lanterns trace 
 A path to pale Guinevere's oriel, high 
 In yon' grey moss-grown tower. By and by 
 She steals forth to the rose-pleached trysting place. 
 
 Star-eyes alone look thro' the leaf-woven lace- 
 Fear naught, there lurks no Modred spy. 
 And Launcelot waits. O large blue languid eye, 
 
 For him glance star-like! Proud pale queenly face, 
 
 Smile in the golden shadow of your hair. 
 
 Why tremble as you lean upon his breast? 
 What fear you? Far across the wild wide sea 
 
 Wrath lingers on a blind red heathen quest; 
 Mine, this one hour — O Sweet, not here but there 
 Is Arthur's vengeance — give one hour to me! 
 
 Launcelot: 
 
 Kiss me — again! Once more — closer. O sweet 
 
 Gold head, droop crownless meek against my 
 
 breast! 
 Oh! be thus in my arms forever pressed, 
 
 Fairest, dearest — all dear from brow to feet. 
 
 94 
 
Guinevere: 
 
 Listen — a noise 1 of hoofs, sharp-shodden, fleet. 
 
 Launcelot: 
 
 No, 'tis a mouse behind the wainscot. Rest, 
 Poor frightened dove, here in my heart's safe nest. 
 
 Guinevere: 
 
 A glance — 
 
 Launcelot: 
 
 The Moon's, out of her cloud-retreat. 
 
 Guinevere: 
 
 O Launcelot — see — there, 'tis an evil face 
 
 Looks in the pane between vine-blossoms white: 
 God pity me — Modred's! 
 
 Launcelot: 
 
 Yield not to fears, 
 Love Guinevere, my Queen; take strength of grace. 
 
 95 
 
Guinevere: 
 
 How shall I meet my lord? 
 
 Launcelot: 
 
 Kiss me tonight; 
 Tomorrow will give time for all our tears. 
 
 96 
 
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